The deepest secret
by PassionsInsanity
Summary: No8 in the Abby Scott series. AU/OC. Following the events from 'Within us, a stranger', the team is set to discover the truth behind the murder of Abby's best friend's fiance and to clear her from murder. But they may find more than they were looking for, as some characters suddenly become exposed and show their true colours, and a new character makes its way into their lives.
1. Accused

_Never make a defense or an apology until you are accused.  
_King Charles I

December 24th.  
Same day.  
B.A.U. Airplane.  
21.29

Worry. Constantly nagging at his brain, like a rollercoaster he could not get out of. The lifestyle, he could deal with. The pictures, the scenes, the dreams, the nightmares – more he could deal with. The fact that he never knew who was the enemy and which enemy he had to fight first; he could deal with it all. But the worry – that was the worst. It had nestled inside his head like a cancer – an ulcer in his stomach, fungus between his toes, a needle in his eyes. Constant. Ever, so, damn, constant. It should drive him insane, but he figured that by now, he had gotten used to it. The arrival of Abby Scott certainly didn't make it any easier, but he thought they would get through it – that he would get through it. Obviously, he had been wrong.

He wasn't sure if she was the only one to blame. Prentiss sure hasn't made it any easier, not for Scott but not for the rest of the team – including himself – as well. But did Emily Prentiss carry any part in them ending up here? No, he could not say she did. Derek Morgan, he certainly did. For years, the dark agent had been his right hand, his trustworthy soldier, but his actions had made Hotch lay in bed at night and wonder what he gotten into the handsome man. The signs were small and visible to only a very keen eye. He wondered if anyone else even knew. Well, perhaps Reid, because he stood so close to Scott, but he must be the only one. Then again, was Morgan fully to blame? Hotch didn't step in as their supervisor either, he let them fool around like teenagers in their freshman year. He never suggested anything, dropped a line, hinted so much that he was aware of the situation. _If_ Morgan carried any blame at all, that would surely have to be reduced in half – at least. Then again, he was a grown man and he knew the consequences of his actions.

No – there were only two persons he could look at and find the blame: Abby Scott herself, and himself.

And yet – where again did it leave them? The only thing that told him the night was darker and more peril was his instinct. There was something going on and he was slowly starting to gather the tells. The way Scott would position herself opposite of the door every single time she stepped into a room. The way she glanced around, mentally scribbling down every detail, scanning every face she saw. The way she repeatedly used reflections to check to behind her. The way she sat – nervous, on edge; like a tiny, little, ticking time bomb. But the most he noticed the way she looked. How she could look at him; in her eyes a small window that told him so many things, he did not know what she was saying to him. There was some sort of emotion in her eyes – Atlanta had showed some sort of emotion in her eyes – one that he could not distinguish from the pale, cold and stale expression on her eyes. One that he could not name. Perhaps it had been because it was something she had never shown him. Yet the growing paleness of her skin, the bags underneath her eyes, the way her eyes seemed to sink into its sockets, her skin getting tighter around the bone due to a lack of proper nutrition; it all told him something he had feared for a long time.

He was losing her. They were both losing control; Aaron Hotchner was losing control over his agent and her seemingly private downwards spiral and Abby Scott seemed to be losing control over everything in her life. Hotchner sighed as he boarded the airplane again. He had been lost in thoughts for quite a while now and he found the conversations of his team around him completely going by him.

"Any sight?" Prentiss asked when she popped her head around her chair.

He shook his head. "No."

"Where the hell are they? They were supposed to be here forty minutes ago." The dark-haired agent exclaimed annoyed and took her seat again.

They had been waiting for thirty minutes for Scott and Reid to arrive. Despite their efforts of contacting them, they still had no idea where they were. JJ had called the hotel, but they could only confirm that the couple had checked out and left over half an hour ago. Nobody seemed to know where they had gone or where they were. They could be in serious trouble. Just as Hotch' mind started wondering – thinking about the many enemies Scott had made in Atlanta that could have caught up with her, his loyal, faithful communications liaison spoke.

"Perhaps they got car trouble or something."

"They could have taken the wrong turn." Morgan joked, an amused smirk around his face. It hadn't been his first joke, but in-between the jokes the team would crack, there was a silence and then the _worry_.

"Guys, don't talk about them like that." Garcia tried again. She had been futilely attempting to minimise the jokes, but to some she couldn't help to snort as well.

"They forgot to study their maps and now their lost in the middle of nowhere." Hotch looked at Rossi and raised his eyebrows. Who knew Rossi had humour?

"Sounds like them." Prentiss continued on, yet attention was quickly erased and the team was again left with morbid thoughts. JJ checked her phone as Morgan dialled Reid's number again. Confused, he looked down at the cell phone seconds later.

"What is it?" Garcia immediately asked. She was seated directly across her favourite F.B.I. agent and as soon as she spoke her line, heads snapped in Morgan's direction.

The person in question looked up and stared at their faces. "I got a busy tone."

"That's good right?" Garcia asked feverishly. "That means that at least they are alive, right, that's improvement?"

"Abby's phone is switched off." JJ said, still holding her cell phone.

"What the hell is-" Before Rossi could finish his line, Hotch' phone rang. He picked up immediately as heads snapped towards him and the tension in the room became almost _too_ unbearable.

"Hotchner."

"_Hotch?_" His voice was soft and broken. "_It's Reid._"

"Reid." Hotch said and the team practically rose from their chairs. "Are you okay?"

"_No._" There was a pause and then a sigh.

"Reid, talk to me."

"_Abby's been arrested._"

"Arrested?!" He repeated. Rossi frowned and Morgan closed his eyes, covering his face with his hand.

_Abby Scott. The idiot_.

"_Hotch._" Reid's voice grew stronger now, as if he got tired of his supervisor not having the level of seriousness that he required. "_They're accusing her of murder._"

"What?! What happened?" Hotch stood up and stood in the doorway of the plane. He motioned for his team to stay put.

"_I don't know. We left the hotel when at some point, a squad car pulls up behind us and orders us to move over. So we did and they found a chopped up body in the go-bags in the car."_

"A body?" Hotch muffled his voice as he spun on his heels in an attempt to keep the news from the team – for now. Quietly, he listened to Reid's words, closed his eyes when hearing the name and mentally kicking himself to the ground. _You lost control, agent Hotchner, and now she's heading down for the crash – hard and fast._ "Are you alright?" He asked after he recomposed himself. There was a lump in his throat and a iron fist around his heart, his chest contracting as reaction. It should have become hard to breath, the world should come crashing down when Hotch realised one of his agents had finally dug herself a hole deep enough not even _he_ could get her out off.

"_Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, it's Abby-"_

"We're on our way. Where are you?"

"_Fulton._ _Hotch, please hurry._"

Hotch hung up the phone and turned back to his team. There was no time for shock or surprise or even anger. His body went full automatic as he retrieved his usual stern, serious and back-to-business shell.

"What's going on?" Rossi was the first to ask.

Hotch stepped forward, back into the group. "Abby's been arrested. They found a chopped up body in the back of their SUV."

"What?" Morgan exclaimed. Garcia gasped for air and JJ's eyes went wide. Prentiss, in fact being much like Hotch, immediately jumped into action-mode. "Wow, wait, only Abby?"

_Funny, how suddenly when it's bad, you switch to a first name basic._

"I don't know the full story yet." Hotch said.

"Do we know who the victim is already?" JJ asked carefully. She had regained her strength and slowly recomposed herself.

Their leader looked up at his team from under his brows. He hesitated.

_This is not good._

"Abby identified her herself." He paused. He didn't want to break the news to the team. He didn't want them, after all the things they faced on a daily basis, to face the cruel reality this close and personal. _Their colleague is a murderer, agent Hotchner. Stop denying it_. "It's Louisa Delgado. Milo Bronckovic's fiancé."

December 24th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
21.58

Once the team arrived at Fulton Police department, they had no time to scan the room and take in surroundings and details. They did not have time to look at faces or process the silence and heaviness that hung in the air. The iron fist that had grabbed a hold of the BAU's team leader had loosened its grip but instead took a hold of his entire team. This was something he could not keep from them, this was something he could not shield them from. And Hotch couldn't decide what he thought was worse; the fact that he couldn't help his team with this personal, brutal _devastation_, or the fact that he could not help the one person he desperately _wanted _to help.

Hotch spotted SCU section chief David McCallister right away when entering the small precinct located in the middle of Atlanta's beloved 'Five Points' district. McCallister was still wearing the same suit – he hadn't even taken of his jacket. He was, however, holding his phone and he stared at it as if it would do its business itself. The tall and broad-shouldered man heard the footsteps and he turned around.

"Hotchner." He greeted Hotch and walked towards him. His eyes lit – here came the heroes. There was a light at the end of the tunnel.

"McCallister." With a nod, Hotch returned the greeting.

"I see you brought the cavalry."

"We were scheduled go to fly back to Quantico. When Reid called, we immediately drove here." Hotch replied after McCallister's dark eyes went over his team.

"Good, because she's going to need all the help that she can get." McCallister turned around again and handed Hotch a thin case file.

"Where is my other agent?"

"Doctor Reid? He's already in the conference room." Mac replied and nodded once in the right direction. "He's fine. A little shaken up, but unharmed."

Garcia let out a sigh and locked her eyes once she found Morgan's.

"Do you have any idea what happened?" Rossi asked as he stepped forward, standing next to Hotch.

"They got a call." McCallister shrugged once, as if it had been so easy and clear at that time. "The caller identified herself as Abby. She said she murdered a young woman. She also said from which hotel she would be leaving, which car, including the license plate. Whoever made the call clearly stated that the other person whom would be traveling with Abby, had nothing to do with it."

"And they didn't find that suspicious?" Hotch commented fiercely.

"They did. That's why they questioned Reid and took it so long before he could contact you. The chief of police here, chief Dawson, he called me shortly after they had picked them up. I came as soon as I could."

"Has she been officially charged yet?" Hotch asked.

"No. Dawson will wait. We've got forty-eight hours. Then he'll charge her if he has to."

"What does Abby have to say about this?" Rossi had opened the case file and looked at Louisa's short personal record. Name. Date of birth. Residence. Address. Phone number. Current work place. _She was a nurse._

"I haven't talked to her yet." McCallister admitted and he looked down at his phone again.

"You'll be handling the case?" Hotch tilted his head backwards, only slightly, but McCallister picked it up. He was good like that.

"Yes. It's a brutal murder within city limits. That's SCU's jurisdiction." He replied plainly.

"But it's presumed to be the fiancé of one of your men." JJ said as she mingled into the conversation.

"That's why I was hoping you guys would help me with the case." The tall SCU agent explained. _Help, not assist. Pay attention to the details_.

"She's a member of our team." Hotch picked his words carefully. McCallister noticed that too, because he paused before he spoke and he looked at Hotch as if trying to read his mind. _She's not one of us, she's _just_ a member of the team._

"She's also one of us, agent Hotchner. Don't make no mistake, she was transferred and she is a member of your team. But she will never stop being one of us. And, if I understood correctly, the fact that the suspect is a member of your team didn't stop you in Chicago." There was another brief interlude as the former army-man glanced at Morgan. "Besides, you guys are the best out there. You wouldn't want a murderer on your team. If she did it, you'll figure it out. If she didn't, we'll clear her name."

"Do you think she did it?" Hotch wanted to know.

McCallister sighed and he glared at his mobile phone again. "Look, I've known Abby for a very long time. We met back in her Army days. I know her. I know her temper, I know her strength. But I also know her weakness. The few friends she has - she'll protect them with her life. There is no way in hell that she would intentionally hurt a friend – her _best_ friend. But that's what I think. I can tell your opinions are divided." He glanced at the faces in front of him. "I don't care. I just want to find out the truth."

"Even if that means she did it?" Rossi retorted quickly.

"Would that change anything about the truth? The truth, agent Rossi, is the truth. Nothing more, nothing less. If it's the truth, then so be it. I'll run this show behind the curtain, I'll let you take the lead. I do wish to talk to her. Only shortly, if I may."

Hotch nodded after contemplating. He knew that if they wanted to crack this case with Abby involved, they were going to need all hands on deck and it was best if those hands were on the same side.

"You can set up in the conference room. Chief Dawson is finalising the paperwork, but after that he will report to you. Anything you need."

"Are you going to inform Bronckovic?" The fearless leader asked, this time his voice gentler and kinder.

"No. Not until I have a positive id from the coroner. I do, however, have another very unpleasant phone call to make."

"Abby's old team?" Hotch guessed.

McCallister nodded. "They have the right to know. Besides, you might need their help."

"Thank you. And-" Hotch waited. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you. One last thing." Mac paused again, looking down and sighing before he looked up again. "The head is still missing."

Hotch frowned. "The head?"

McCallister walked away after nodding. Once he had distanced himself enough, Hotch turned to his team.

"What do you want to do?" Prentiss asked.

"I want to talk to Reid first; make sure he is okay, hear his side of the story. Rossi, Prentiss and JJ, I want you on the victim. Everything you can find. Set up a profile. We need to treat this as any other case. We can't focus on Abby as the killer yet. We need to know what happened." Hotch explained.

Morgan interlaced his eyes with his supervisor's. "What do you want me to do?"

Hotch turned towards his loyal follower. "I could use you when I'm interviewing Abby. You knew her best. She talked to you the most. I need you to have my back." There was a secret, hidden message encrypted in Hotch's words. By the way Morgan looked at him, those deep, dark eyes, his head strong on his neck, jaw stiffened, lips pressed together, determination set all across his face, Hotch knew the message had come across. _I need to count on you. I need you here, right next to me_.

The rest of the team was oblivious to their thought-conversation – or at least they pretended that they were – when Hotch continued. "JJ, there is a file on my desk with Abby's name on it. Could you please have that send over?"

"Of course." The blonde replied, nodding, but her eyes were questioning.

"Garcia, you're here now. We could really use you."

"Of course, sir. At your side and service." Garcia replied to him, her voice soft but strong.

The team moved forward towards the conference room that had been cleared for them. They could see an absentminded Spencer Reid, holding a cup of coffee, leaning against the table, staring into space. As soon as the door opened, he looked up. "Hotch."

"Are you okay?" He immediately asked.

Reid nodded and tucked a lose strand of hair behind his ear. He weakly nodded at the rest of his team as they took his place. JJ, of course, moved to stand directly next to him, briefly placing a hand on his arm.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Hotch asked kindly.

"We uhm.. We were in the car-"

"At the beginning, Reid. When did you see her, what time did you leave?" Hotch said.

"I picked her up from her hotel room. She had already packed her bags and then we left the hotel. It must have been around eight? When we got to the car, four bags were already in it. Abby was pretty mad about it, she thought you might have put them there, as some sort of a joke. We were about halfway to the airport when she noted the police car. She pulled over, we got out. They uhm, they asked if she was Abby Scott and then they asked for our guns. Abby asked them for some id, which they gave us, so we gave our guns to them and they said they had to search our vehicle and I'd like to point out that at that point we still had no idea what was going on. They wouldn't tell us a thing." Reid added upset. He was clearly shaken up as he pointed his finger at Hotch, as if his supervisor would go running towards chief Dawson to tell. Instead, the agent nodded at his protégé and allowed him to continue.

Reid waited and he looked at the floor. When he looked at the floor, his eyes were pleading. "Hotch, they knew exactly what they were looking for, they knew who she was, that we were armed, they knew where to look."

"I know, Reid, I know."

"How is that possible?"

"We don't know yet." Hotch lied. "Do you remember what she was like when you picked her up from her room?"

"Tired. Sleepy. She looked like she had slept but…"

"But what?" JJ encouraged him.

"Her eyes were too clear for that. Maybe, maybe she just lay down or something?"

"Did she look surprised when she opened the car and found four go-bags already in it?" Rossi asked friendly.

"No. She was, angry. She said something about us being mules and a joke or something, I don't know." Reid answered.

"What about when the police officers found the body?"

Reid shortly spaced out and they all figured he recalled the earlier events. "She was angry at first, she didn't want to give them her gun. And then-…" He looked up at Hotch. "Hotch, I saw her, I saw her eyes, her face when she saw the body. There is no way that she did this, her knees buckled underneath her, one of the officers thought she was doing something and he just slammed her into the car. Abby's not the one that would be slammed into a car any time soon. I saw her." He stressed his words with loudness. "I saw her face, she did not do this."

There was silence as Reid finally caught on. "What are you not telling me?"

"Someone called the police claiming that they saw Abby kill a woman. They gave her full name, a description, knew which hotel you would be leaving from – even the license plate of the car." Hotch solemnly admitted.

"So? That means whoever did this is trying to set Frankie up and that he was watching us." The young genius argued.

"According to McCallister, the caller sounded an awful lot like Abby."

"You don't believe – you think she did this, don't you?" Suddenly, Reid didn't want to be near them anymore. He distanced himself from JJ and moved away from Hotch. "You think she did this." He repeated.

"Reid, it's too soon to tell."

"Too soon to tell? Too soon to tell?! She's one of us! How can you doubt one of your own agents? How you can you not trust her on this?"

"Reid, that's enough." Morgan suddenly said. "We all have different thoughts and different reasons to think those thoughts. Please. We just want to know what happened."

"Right." Reid replied sarcastically. "Well, you heard my side of the story." And with that he stormed out of the room, leaving his fellow team members behind flabbergasted and just as confused as he probably was himself.

_"Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape."  
_William S. Burroughs


	2. The past

"_To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you."  
_Lewis B. Smedes_  
_

* * *

December 24th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
22.18

Hotch rubbed his forehead. From diving head first into a case with a disorganised spree killer, they ended up looking at their own agent. It was too soon. The wounds Abby Scott had caused over the past few days were still too fresh and this was salt into their wounds. They were biased. They were tired and beaten and broken and stabbed in the back by Abby's disloyalty and inability to trust her team. It became clear that somehow, somewhere, Abby was still willing to put her old team before her current team. That's something that didn't go unnoticed – it caused breaches and breaks and shifts in their underlying structure of group function.

As Hotch glanced at his team, taking in their faces momentarily, but studiously, he wondered when it had started. Something was going on between Morgan and Scott. He had noticed it. Prentiss seemed unable to truly connect to the younger agent. Spencer Reid was clinging onto the fellow genius; he must have felt as if she was the only person that could completely understand him because of their shared intelligence. Hotch wondered if Reid really thought that; that they didn't understand him because they weren't smart enough. He figured the young, talented man would be smarter than that. Or at least he hoped. JJ was one of the few that seemed to get along with Abby, although the pretty blonde had let on to Hotch that there was something off about Abby Scott, and that despite their morning talks and easy chatter, Abby remained distant and untouchable. Rossi was a different story. Or perhaps he had already known what went on, that he had foreseen the trouble and the problems. Rossi had never talked to Hotch about Scott. He had kept his mouth shut; only put his two cents in if he was asked. One day, Hotch had asked him about their new member. Rossi had been silent for minutes, quietly contemplating, swirling the dark amber liquid in his glass. 'Abby Scott is a brilliant, young and talented profiler. But she's just not _right_'_._ Now, slowly, Hotch was starting to understand what Rossi had meant with those words.

Only, Hotch feared it was too late now.

"Excuse me, agent Hotchner?" Two police officers in uniform appeared in the doorway, that same doorway Reid had stormed out of minutes ago. The oldest of them cleared his throat.

"Yes?" Hotch looked at them.

"Officers Jameson and Trenton. We were the arresting officers. Chief Dawson and agent McCallister asked us to give you this." Jameson put a box on the table. "Our statements are in it, personal affects, the case files, but if you still want to talk to us, just holler."

Hotch nodded and they turned to leave. They stopped when Rossi called out to them. "What was she like?"

"Excuse me sir?" Officer Jameson replied.

"SSA Scott, what was she like when you pulled her over, arrested her?" Rossi repeated his question.

"First few seconds she was…" Jameson sought the right words.

"Arrogant?" Trenton tried, but he shook his head immediately.

"Stubborn." Jameson suddenly said determined. "When they stepped out of the car, we told her not to move. She did. The man, doctor Reid?" Hotch nodded and Jameson continued talking. "He halted. But she just kept on walking towards us, saying 'We're FBI.' When she first said it, I was half expecting her to add 'stupid' to it. Cocky, is perhaps a better word." _Oh, she had been so _fearless_ since she was just a child_.

"And then?" Hotch pressed on.

"We did what we were told to do. We asked for confirmation that she was Abby Scott, asked for their guns and searched the vehicle."

"How did she seem during the process?" Hotch wanted to know.

"She became weary real soon. You could tell by the look on her face that she didn't like anything of it."

"Did she look guilty?" Rossi carefully questioned.

"No, not really sir. More like, I don't know. I don't really blame her. We were ordered not to tell her anything. But she caught on real soon. She knew something was wrong. She asked for our id before she handed her gun." Jameson said after recalling the events in his head.

"Yeah, but she had a backup gun tucked behind her back." Trenton immediately commented. "And a knife in its holster around her ankle."

"Who searched the car?" Hotch was eyeing both men.

Trenton swallowed and his gaze was diverted to the ground for a brief moment. "I did sir."

"Did you see agent Scott when your partner searched the car?" He asked the other police officer.

Jameson nodded. "Yes, sir. I did. Her eyes were darting around – going from me to Trenton, to her colleague, back to Trenton, back to me. She was watching everything we did."

"How did she respond when she saw the body?" Hotch continued to ask.

"Honestly, sir? That still creeps me out. I've been on the job for nearly ten years, I've seen a lot of bad stuff. But she -.. She just stood there. It was like, she wasn't really there. Then, she said this name, Louisa or something, and she tried to break free."

"She tried to escape?" Rossi repeated, shock in his voice, his eyes focussed on his supervisor. Two different stories. Reid's story had been completely different and the fact that an outside like officer Jameson gave a different mood set from Abby meant that Reid was too close involved in the case – more than Hotch had liked or wanted.

"That's what it looked like to me, sir."

"Okay, thank you. If we need anything else, we'll contact you." The supervisor, always wearing a black suit and a white shirt, thanked them with a nod.

"Alright." Both men turned and left the room again. The air became thick and with the closing of the door, he felt isolated. Sounds were muted and all that remained in the room was this utter silence. What in the world had happened? And how had he let it come this far?

"Alright people, let's get started." Hotch told his team. _Time to get to work, dear puppets._

* * *

December 24th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
23.31

He quietly watched his team from a distance. He pretended to look at the file that he was holding, but secretly he observed his team. Hotch had asked JJ to talk to Reid. The young man reluctantly re-entered the room and had apologized for his behaviour. No one could blame him. He was welcomed back into the group with a joke and a smile, before those smiles faltered and concerned, worried expressions took over again. Rossi was one he shouldn't worry about. He was old enough to handle himself, plus he had seen a lot. Right now, Rossi was the one he could count on. Which brought his thoughts to his usual right hand. Morgan. For minutes, he stared at a blank paper, his hands folded before his mouth, elbows resting on his knees. There was something distant in his eyes, something was clearly troubling him. Then again, Hotch couldn't blame him either; he worked with her closely for eight months. If Abby was guilty, she fooled Morgan the most. Prentiss was steady, as usual. Whether or not she compartmentalised fast, somehow Prentiss was always steady. Hotch knew that. He would rely on Rossi and Prentiss now more than ever, and that could possibly sign them up for exhausting, stress, mistakes, pressure.

JJ was what Hotch liked the call the quiet sufferer. She tried hard to be strong and unfazed, but whenever her eyes would stare into nothingness, he could see her worry. His communications liaison would quickly shake it off of her, but it was already too late. Then there was Garcia. She sought her support with her favourite hero, but he was wavering. As per usual, she tried to look at the bright side of it. How long would it take before she realised there was no bright side? Lastly, there was Reid. Reid was the one he was extremely worried about. He has been defending Abby ever since it first started and if Hotch' gut instinct was right; his believes would soon be shattered until there was nothing left of it.

His team looked exhausted, beat down. Hotch knew they were going to pull an all-nighter – it wouldn't matter if he send them to their hotel rooms to get some rest, they would all, each and single one of them, continue working. Well, perhaps not Rossi and Prentiss. They would possibly be able to get _some_ sleep. But the rest, they would not. Nevertheless, Hotch felt like he should at least try to get his team build up their strengths.

"Guys, there are hotel rooms available. If you want, Chief Dawson offered to arrange a place to sleep here at the precinct. I understand if would decline, but if you feel like lying down, if only for an hour or so, please do so."

They all nodded and some perhaps considered it, but no one actually responded.

As he thought: it was going to be an all-nighter.

There was a sudden knock on the door and seven heads snapped to meet the intruder. McCallister stood in the doorway, probably feeling just like he looked. For the first time since the team met him, he was not holding his cell phone. "I talked to Wills and her team, except for Miles. They should be here some time in the morning. I asked for full cooperation, but they will most likely be a pain in your ass. Just yell if you need anything from them. Threatening with forced leave usually helps." He joked.

"Thank you." Hotch said friendly. "Have you contacted Miles yet?"

McCallister nodded. "He's coming to my office. Which reminds me, we have a positive id on the body. It is Louisa Delgado."

"Okay, thank you." Hotch said again.

"If you don't mind, I'd really like to talk to her if that's okay with you." Mac carefully requested. He glanced around the room as he spoke, and eventually settled his eyes on Hotch.

He stood up and approached the taller agent. "We would like to keep the fact that she is cut off from information source to our advance."

"Of course." McCallister replied quickly. "Honestly, I just want to check on how she's doing."

"Alright." Hotch nodded and he followed McCallister to the interview rooms. He waited until Hotch, Morgan and Rossi had entered the room behind the two-way mirror before opening the door.

From inside the room, Hotch could see Abby's old boss enter the room. Hotch knew it was Abby sitting in the room, on the chair behind the long, steel table, yet there was a part of her he didn't recognise. She sat still, her hands placed on the table, in contact but not folded. She sat slightly slumped, her shoulders hanging downwards and if Hotch didn't know better, if almost looked like she was trying to make herself look smaller. She was just a pile of… Some sort of emotion.

"Hey Frankie."

Abby looked up at the sound of his voice. For a moment, she observed him. "Mac? What are you doing here?" Her voice was soft and low, slightly hoarse even. She sat up. _The calvary._

"What? You didn't think I'd get the call?" Mac replied and by the tone of his voice, Hotch guessed he briefly wore a small smile. "I was called even before your boss was." The last made him sigh and Hotch could see his hand being brought up to his face to rub it. Abby didn't reply.

"Are you alright?"

She shrugged. "Ya. I could use a smoke though."

"Perhaps this is a good time to quit."

Again, Abby didn't really respond to him. Instead, she looked at her old boss; her lips slightly pursed, head low, looking up at Mac from behind a strand of her hair. "It's Louisa, isn't it?" She whispered.

McCallister hesitated and Hotch could see him turn his face slightly, as if asking permission from Hotch to tell her.

"DNA confirmed."

"Damn it." Abby said, louder now, as she lifted herself forward, the clatter of cuffs echoing in the room as she lifted her hands to rest her head against. She had closed her eyes when she suddenly jerked her arm, presumably trying to break the only link between her and the steel table; the cuffs. She then turned her body away from McCallister, her right side now facing him, one leg swung over the other, fingers of her left hand before her mouth. "Have you called Miles yet?" She asked after a minute or so.

"I have. He's meeting me in my office in fifteen minutes. He's worried. Louis never came home and now he gets a call from his boss."

Abby closed her eyes again. "They'd set a date. Spring next year."

"I heard."

"Fuck!"

McCallister waited before he continued to speak. "Abby, are you aware of the position you're in?"

"Ya. They think I did it. Who's handling the case?"

"Your team is." Hotch could tell McCallister was trying to lure _something_ out of her by the tone of voice. Since he was sitting with his back towards the mirror, he couldn't see his face, but his voice had been strong and clear. Confident. His comment made Abby's head snap and body towards him and Hotch swore he saw _something_.

"You're kidding."

"You know they'll find everything. They're too good to be hiding something from."

"And what makes you think I've got something to hide?" Abby snapped back at him.

Mac didn't reply, but there was something on his face that caused her to lean back into the chair again. "I'm not afraid of them." She said boldly.

"That's not what I mean."

"I know what you mean, Mac." She snapped. "You want me to be a good puppy and roll over. Is that why you're here? Why you're the first person I've talked to ever since they brought me in here with cuffs around my wrists as if I'm some sort of criminal? I know most of these guys, Lewy and I trained half of them!"

"We can resolve this situation a lot quicker if you cooperated with them, Frankie."

Abby's eyes flashed towards the mirror and then back to Mac. She sighed and then a crooked smile formed around her lips. "I was going to say you can tell Hotchner to go **fuck** himself, but I guess I can deliver the message personally. Can't I, agent Hotchner?"

"Someone's really agitated." Rossi commented dryly.

"Of course she is." Morgan replied and his reply caused the heads of Hotch and Rossi to turn towards him. "She gets pulled over, has to hand in her gun, gets arrested, is walked in here with cuffs around her wrists and she has now been sitting in an interview room for three hours without being actually interviewed. She's pissed. I was too when I was in her position. Only she's still locked to the table."

His words made Hotch ponder as McCallister's head appeared around the doorframe. "I have to go. Miles should arrive shortly. I don't want him to hear about this from someone else. If you need anything, just let me know."

Hotch nodded, but McCallister stopped himself in the process of leaving.

"And I'd really appreciate it if you kept me up to date with your process."

"Of course." Hotch told him and McCallister left to deliver news you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy.

Morgan left the room as well and Rossi quietly closed the door behind him. As Hotch had turned and observed the woman on the other side of the glass, Rossi stood next to him. "I'm worried about him."

"Who? McCallister?" Hotch asked surprised.

"No. Morgan." Rossi looked at Hotch. "I don't know what it is, but there is something about him I can't place."

"He'll be fine."

"Eventually. I'm just saying that perhaps we should keep an eye on him. She was, after all, his partner."

Hotch nodded, his finger brushing against his lips. There was a silence before he spoke again. "Do you think she did it?" He asked.

Rossi sighed before answering. "I don't know, Hotch. All I know is that I don't like her attitude. She's going to make this a lot harder for herself."

"She'll go down fighting." Hotch commented to himself.

"That she will. Question is, what, or _who, _is she fighting for?"

* * *

December 24th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
23.48

Her blonde hair fell naturally along the lines of her shoulders. Jennifer Jareau always felt as if her blue eyes and blonde hair caused a disadvantage. People judge on looks and hers certainly _could_ help her along the way. Of course, there was a down side of being blonde with blue eyes; people had a hard time taking her serious. JJ remembered telling a friend that she was applying for the F.B.I. Her friend had started laughing and her cheeks flashed bright red when she realised JJ was not making any sort of joke.

Right now, this entire situation, it felt like a bad joke someone was pulling on them. Some sort of awful prank. Smile, you're on Candid Camera! If the heaviness of the situation would not rest on her shoulders, JJ might have laughed at her own joke. But whenever she looked to her right, looking at the picture of a person she once trusted and was now degraded to a photo on the suspect's board, the heaviness on her shoulders only got worse. Her mind lingered over all those chats the two women shared and JJ wondered if she should have noticed something along the way. If there had been some time Abby dropped her guard and let something slip, some comment that should have rung alarm bells, something that should have sent her motherly instincts right on high alert. Of course, agent Jareau could not find anything. Not because she was the amateur blonde hair and blue eyes could make of her, but because Abby Scott was a professional. She was good and an even better liar. Obviously, Abby would not go around and accidentally decipher her own secrets in slipped words.

Still, her picture hung upon the board, a picture of Louisa Delgado on the board next to it and the first steps of a basic timeline that told more than it showed. Right now, Louisa's timeline was starting to get a shape. Abby's was still too empty. Ironically, JJ felt it was fitting. Over the past weeks, she had started to learn that Abby felt a lot of blank spots, open rooms and vacant spaces and she wasn't doing anything to fill them up. There were a million reasons 'how' and 'why'. This could be a set-up, this could be a mistake, an accident. A mix up.

And still, that tiny possibility of Abby having murdered Louis Delgado was the only one they were most occupied with. They were biased, of course, but they kept an open mind. And in that open mind, all JJ could hear was the possibility of Abby – her friend, her colleague, one she trusted – being of the same specified monsters they hunted every day. Were it not that her state of mind was not right, JJ would have laughed at the ironic circle that was just drawn.

* * *

December 25th.  
Next day.  
Fulton Police department.  
00.01

_Merry Christmas._

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
00.23

The night was dark and the air was thin. Despite the time of year, it wasn't _that_ cold. Atlanta was known for its warm-ish winters which was probably one of the reason Abby loved this city, since she hated anything that was related to coldness and snow. At this time of night, Chapel Street was normally deserted, were it not that now an entire forensic team was working and processing the evidence found on the secondary crime scene. As the grey cement of the road underneath their feet was artificially lit by construction lamps, Morgan and Prentiss watched as the forensic night shift did their work. The coroner had already left after releasing the body. The black van that contained the body parts carefully drove off into the darkness to meet other unlucky souls working at this hour. On Christmas, even.

"Do you think she did it?" Prentiss asked concerned, her eyes focussed on the black SUV in front of them.

Morgan was standing next to her, his hands pocketed in his jeans and he sighed. He glanced around. "I don't know, Prentiss."

The dark haired agent broke her staring battle with something she rather not faced to look at her colleague. He met her eyes and shrugged. "All I know is that Abby's an agent in everything she does. She lives and breathes FBI. I find it hard to believe that she would jeopardise her career over something that doesn't make sense."

Prentiss nudged her head. "Or perhaps it just doesn't make sense _yet_."

Morgan sighed again and, after getting the signal from one of the forensic guys, approached the vehicle. Prentiss looked at his back for a few seconds, pondering over the difficulty of her dark and tall friend's position. Of course she knew something played between Scott and Morgan. She just wasn't sure if either of them had acted on the mutual sparks.

As Prentiss walked towards the car she did her best to think neutral thoughts. But as her heels made heartless, echoing sounds on the pavement, all she could think of why _Abby Scott _would transport a body in a car that _she_ was driving.

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
08.50

"Do you have any idea on how you're going to handle this?"

Rossi stood next to Hotch – both men had pocketed their hands and stood watching their colleague (_Colleague..._) from behind a two-way mirror. She looked even worse than she did last night. Colour had drained from her face; the usual English-pale face that held some sort of pinkish colour had been replaced by a grey hue, circles under her eyes – those eyes that seemed to have sunk into their sockets, disappearing in shades of grey and blue. Hotch wondered if she slept at all. By the way she was nervously biting down on her nails, once again slumped down in the chair; he guessed she had been up all night, wondering, pondering, pacing around in her cell. On the bright side; it seemed that she had lost the fury that had overpowered her yesterday.

"I have no idea." Hotch admitted. "I've thought about going in aggressive, but she'll probably just dodge the blows and lash out whenever she can."

"Let her know you're on her side. Let her know she can trust you. Perhaps she'll open up."

"What if she doesn't?" Hotch replied.

"You drop the bomb; you more or less lead her on that we're profiling her. That will get her started."

"You can always use me." Morgan said, appearing in the doorway. By the look on his face, both agents could tell the dark, handsome man did not agree with their little secret meeting away from the group. "She was my partner. We talked. As superficial as it may have been, we talked."

"Are you sure?" Hotch asked him.

"Yeah." Morgan sent a look towards his supervisor before glancing from him to Rossi. "Though I would wait with going in aggressive or dropping bombs. Look at her – one wrong move and she'll kick you out. Why don't you just talk to her, for now? She's been here for twelve hours and still you haven't talked to her."

Hotch looked back at the woman on the other side of the glass. Without another word, he walked past Morgan and entered the room. Morgan stepped aside before entering the room behind the mirror.

Hotch opened the door, not knowing what to expect. The air was cool and cold – perhaps a bit too cold. Abby, however, wearing only her blouse and black jeans, didn't look cold. Once her mind registered the sound of the opened door, she looked at it. Her eyes locked with Hotch' – her light green, grey eyes lost their usual sparkle and now only looked dark and hollow. He could see the caged lion in her eyes, but she let Hotch enter the room and he sat down. Her face didn't show any signs of anger.

"How are you?" He spoke softly. His hands rested on the table, folded together.

The second she had heard the door, Abby had dropped her hand and rested both in the air between her legs. She shrugged. "I'm alright. Considering."

"Can I get you anything?"

"Can you get me a smoke?"

Hotch snorted softly. "No. Sorry."

"Then I'm good."

Hotch studiously observed the woman he once thought would be the best of the best. As she sat there, a humble pile of bones, no pride or arrogance left, he almost felt sorry for her. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"You know what happened." Abby retorted, annoyingly picking at the paint on the table.

"I'd like to hear your story."

She didn't look at him. "They think I killed my best friend's fiancé. They are saying that I murdered Louisa, then chopped her up and put her in a go bag." She smiled weakly. _Merry Christmas._

"What's so funny?"

"The car. Why in the car? I would park it at the airport; the body would start to decompose so when someone would get in the car the next morning, they would surely find it. My prints are all over it, they would have mostly definitely come knocking on my door." She told him.

"What happened after we left the SCU?"

Abby lowered her head again, avoiding eye contact with her supervisor. "I went to my hotel, packed my things and took a nap."

"Did you leave your room?"

"No." She looked up at him now. "And you can check. The security camera next to the fire exit covers my door and there is a camera in the elevator."

"You did your homework." Hotch replied.

"What do you want from me Hotch?" Abby responded angry. She raised her voice and the muscles in her face came to life again. "Go home! Just leave me here and you go back to Quantico. Problem solved."

"I don't see how the problem is solved if you're still here in custody."

"Oh like you give a damn, Hotch."

"Of course we give a damn, Abby -"

Abby cut him off before he could say anything else. "Is that why it took you so long to come in here? Why you didn't barge into the room last night, demanding to know what happened. No, you waited. For what?!"

"Abby, please, I don't want to argue with you right now. Let us help you. We're on your side."

His last comment made her lean back in her chair again, rubbing her face with her free hand. Then she started chuckling. "Hotch, you don't know what sides are. And hell, even if you do, you wouldn't know where _my_ fucking side would be."

Hotch stood up, glanced one last time at her and then he left the room.

Morgan had positioned himself next to Rossi. He too, had pocketed his hands. It was like unwritten behaviour – as soon as you step into the observation room, you put your hands in your pockets.

"What the hell is she hiding Rossi?"

"I don't know. But let's hope we find out fast, before this whole thing escalates."

* * *

"_What you need to know about the past is that no matter what has happened, it has all worked together to bring you to this very moment. And this is the moment you can choose to make everything new. Right now."  
_Author Unknown_  
_


	3. The truth

Truth

"_Figure of my heart, in complement extern, 'tis not long after, but I will wear my heart upon my sleeve for daws to peck at. I am not what I am."  
_William Shakespeare, Othello Act 1._  
_

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
07.49

Agent Hotchner walked into the room. His team had settled down, faces tired and grim, coffee in front of them. They had changed their clothes, showered, went to get something to eat, but they couldn't shed their skin. Not like they normally could, not this time. They had worked practically all night. Forensics had been more than helpful and had rushed all evidence that was found at the scene. The coroner also had stayed up late to finish the autopsy. Prentiss and Rossi had visited her early to hear her findings and gather the details. Coroner Julliana Morris had revealed that Louisa died from blood loss, but was dissected post-mortem. There were little signs of a struggle; only a misplaced bruise on her knee and lower arm - which could all be consistent with a fall.

Garcia had managed to get some sleep. Reid had fallen asleep in his chair, case files resting on his chest. Rossi, Prentiss and JJ took Dawson on his offer to set up a room for them in which they could sleep so they didn't have to drive all the way back to the hotel. Just like Hotch himself, Morgan hadn't once rested his head. It had been the reason why they were already on their third cup of coffee of the day.

"Alright people, let's get started." Hotch started and sat down. The rest of his team follow his lead. "What have we got on Louisa Delgado?" He asked Rossi and Prentiss.

"Louisa Delgado-" Rossi repeated as he started summing up the facts from his little black book. "She was born in Washington but moved to Atlanta when she started studying to become a nurse at the Nell Hodgson Woodruff School of Nursing. When she was twenty-four she started working at Grady Memorial Hospital where she has been working ever since. She had been engaged for nearly a year to Milo Bronckovic."

"She had no criminal record but she was attacked four years ago by a Jimmy Carter. He stole her purse and cut her arm but nothing life-threatening." Garcia passed on the information her faithful laptop was giving her.

"She was a nurse. Why would someone want to kill a nurse?" JJ commented confused.

"Someone could blame Louisa or nurses in general for the loss of a loved one." Prentiss answered.

"So why would Abby want to kill her?" JJ asked the same question differently. Reid frowned at the words of the blonde.

Rossi shrugged. "They were getting married. You heard Abby say it. Perhaps she was jealous and decided to kill her now, before it was too late."

"She doesn't strike me as the jealous type." Morgan commented off-minded.

"Have forensics found anything yet?" Hotch questioned.

Prentiss shook her head. "No, but we're expecting to hear from them in the next hour."

"Primary crime scene?"

"Nothing so far. Bronckovic was at home last night, so we know our Unsub could not have killed her in their apartment. Police is still looking." Rossi said to his boss.

"There were no defensive wounds, so it was either a blitz attack or our victim knew her attacker. The bruise on her lower arm and knee could be consistent with a fall. It was a brutal murder, violent, bloody. Whoever did this, certainly didn't mind getting dirty." Prentiss commented. Hotch noticed her choice of words about the Unsub. Her words seemed to let on that she was undecided. _Not undecided, agent Hotchner. Afraid to admit that in fact, she has decided._

"She didn't have to cut Delgado into pieces, yet she did. Why? The body could have easily been placed in the SUV with a blanket on top of it or something. It was dark, Reid and Abby were both tired, I doubt they would have noticed." Rossi said and he was clearer with his decision and choice of words.

"Coroner estimates time of death about an hour before she was found." Prentiss added, tucking some hair behind her ear. JJ had stood up to put the information on the right side of the evidence board. The left side was already covered for the timeline they would establish for Abby.

"That's risky." Reid suddenly spoke. "If something went wrong, if he was delayed we could have caught him while he was loading the body or the bags in the car or worse: we would already be gone."

"So why did the unsub wait for so long?" Rossi thought out loud.

"Perhaps he was held up?" Garcia suggested.

"We left around eight, which would mean he killed Louisa around seven – he could have been stuck in traffic." Reid conjectured.

"No." Rossi mumbled. When he spoke again, he spoke louder and addressed the group. "This unsub, he's meticulous. Organized, strict, planned. He wouldn't get stuck in traffic."

"Guys." Garcia demanded attention, her fingers rapidly moving over her keyboard. "Louisa was supposed to start a shift at six last night. She never showed up."

"So he took her before six." Rossi decided.

"Question is, what did he do with her until he killed her?" Hotch wondered.

"I still don't understand why the Unsub felt the need to cut Delgado's body." The elder agent questioned again.

"The Unsub put her body parts in go-bags." Morgan answered matter of factly. Faces shifted to meet his dark and deity's, eyes reasoning but finding no results behind Morgan's words. Hence he continued. "That tells me he or she knows what we do. The Unsub knows how we operate, how we work, what we use. We were studied until he knew miniature details such as what types of go-bags we use. It also tells me the Unsub is taunting us, exactly because he knows these things. He could have used or done anything to the fiancé of an FBI agent, but instead the Unsub decided to chop her up, put her in federal used bags and put her in the back of a federal car."

"High intelligence, arrogance, superiority." Reid summed, nodding as he did it. _Three more pieces of the __puzzle_.

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
10.19

"Hotch." Prentiss appeared in the doorway and motioned with her head for him to step outside the room. The team noticed, but asked no questions.

"What is it?" Hotch had closed the door and put his hands on his hips.

Prentiss played with the phone in her hand and seemed uneasy. "I just got a call from forensics."

"Did they find anything?"

"They have." Pause. Sigh. "Hotch, it doesn't look good. They found a hair, inside one of the bags. They've already confirmed - it's Abby's."

Her supervisor didn't know what to say. For seconds, he could just look at her with this expression on his face as if he didn't want to believe it. To make matters worse, Prentiss told him everything else the forensic guys had found. Covering his mouth with his face, Reid watched them from the other side of the glass and feared the worst. He anxiously waited until Hotch and Prentiss returned into the room. Without having to ask for it, Hotch had his team's full attention.

Garcia looked like she was at the movie theatre watching a real good horror movie. She seemed near crying and the little colour in her face had faded away. JJ held a hardened look in her eyes, even on her face, but the hand she had brought up to put against her lips told them she was just as worried. Morgan's expression remained blank – unable to read. Hotch made a mental note to check up on his brave soldier. Reid seemed impatient and stressed and Hotch realised that he _also_ need to check with his youngest member. Rossi's mien was dark and gloomy. Adding that up with the words he had spoken about Abby earlier made Hotch wonder if the Italian American had secretly stashed a crystal ball somewhere. For some reason, Rossi always seemed prepared. Or he was just prepared for the worst because he knew to always suspect the worst.

"Forensics just called. It doesn't look good." Hotch paused briefly. "They found a hair inside one of the bags. It's a match to Abby. There was a bloody finger print on the inside of the car; the blood matches Louisa Delgado and the print belongs to Abby. They also found Abby's blood underneath Louisa Delgado's finger nail."

"That's impossible." Reid immediately stated. "Abby doesn't have a mark on her."

"Abby wasn't fully processed. We'll have to do so in order to actually confirm that she had no injuries." Prentiss replied calmly, but the look Reid gave her – one in which he clearly questioned her loyalty and openly wonders if Prentiss just 'betrayed' both Abby and Reid – was everything except calm and friendly.

Rossi raised his hand in order to forestall a conflict. "Is there any proof that the evidence was planted?"

"It doesn't look that way, but the forensic team is not excluding that possibility. They're doing further testing but the chances" Prentiss halted hesitating as she glanced at the genius, "are slim."

"So she killed her?" JJ suddenly exclaimed probably louder than she had intended.

"It is starting to look that way." Hotch concluded austere.

"My God." Garcia muttered several times and the tears welled up in her eyes.

Just as Hotch turned around and opened his mouth to speak, the door opened again. Chief Dawson appeared in the doorway, an expression of fear, worry and concern frozen on his face.

"Agent Hotchner. We just found the primary crime scene."

_Oh. You're timing is impecable._

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
11.17

There was a soft humming sound as the elevator went up. Occasionally, the metal underneath their feet would cry out in its touch against the steel pipes that lead the moving box upwards. Once it finally stopped, silence re-entering their ears, Hotch opened the cage, took a few steps forward into the empty, concrete and cold space that functioned as some sort of hallway and slid the large, dark blue door aside. It revealed something not most eyes would see in their lives.

Walnut Sonate 1 Strip, hardwood flooring with broken white floor plinths were the first thing to attract the eye, graciously inviting whoever entered the loft. The walls had been painted beach medium grey though large sections of the four walls of the loft were hidden behind massive dark oak bookcases. Most of those bookcases were emptied, yet some book-selves still carried forgotten books, papers and journals. Immediately on the right, there was the study. A long, black desk with a shining surface was placed in the middle of the half-open space, positioned so that the person sitting behind it would have its back facing the wall. A third wall had been created by bookcases to enclose the study room from the rest of the apartment, as it was all an open space. There were at least two dozen lighter spots on the wall, probably from where paper hid the paint behind it; protecting it from discolouring. Directly across the study room was the kitchen and it was instantly reminiscent to Morgan.

Kitchen island with sink and stove, behind it in the left corner the fridge and oven built into an extending part of the wall, followed by a few good metres of workspace with a dark wooden worktop, matching the flooring. The worktop was supported by several different drawerlines and pan drawers with twin pull doors. There were no cabinets upon the wall, only two rows of shelves that used to hold spices, jars, cups and kitchen utensils. He had seen a kitchen like this before and now that he thought of it; the open space, the bookcases, the windows at the South end in the living room, touching both the ceiling and the floor; he had seen it before. He stepped forward, cautiously, taking in every detail of this place with his mouth slightly open in surprise and shock. Once he passed the study, his dark eyes found the shoji privacy screen and he walked around it. The bedroom was just was he expected. A simple, high platform bed, dark sheets, two wooden nightstands. No pictures; not anywhere in the house, no lighter squares on the wall that indicated any had hung upon the wall anyway. As Morgan stepped back into the open space under a careful eye of his supervisor, he took in the leather couch, the mid-grey chaise lounge and the black, deep buttoned, English arm chair with a winged back. No television.

There was no doubt this was Abby's old apartment.

There was blood all over the walls and the floor in the kitchen. Presumably, this was where Louisa Delgado was murdered and chopped into pieces. He had laid her down on top of the kitchen island and slowly dissected limbs. Aside from the blood in the first part of the loft, the second half was unusually clean. Though it was obvious no one had lived here in quite a long time, it was left behind neat. It was consistent with what Hotch had said the same morning '_Just in case_'. Abby could move back in whenever she wanted.

JJ appeared next to Hotch, staring around the room disorientated. "It's confirmed. The blood matches Louisa Delgado. This is where she was murdered."

"But why here?" Hotch asked nobody in particular.

"This is still her home. Look at it. Her stuff is gone, but that doesn't mean she left it empty. If she was called back to Atlanta, she'd just move in again." Rossi said. "This is the safest place she knows."

"I don't think so." Morgan spoke as he slowly stalked back towards his team. "To her, this entire city is safe. And, assuming that she is the Unsub, she had many other, more secluded places to go. She would know we would eventually check out her old apartment."

Prentiss walked into the room. "There's a security camera hanging outside the door. It doesn't seem to work though."

Reid looked up and frowned, but as he looked down again they all could tell that he was thinking something, yet lost the trace. He would find it again, eventually.

"If it is Abby, why did she choose this place?" Hotch asked again.

"It could have been easy for her to lure Delgado here. She wouldn't have thought twice about meeting her here if she felt something was off." Prentiss suggested.

"I still find it hard to believe Abby would kill someone in her own house." Reid commented dryly. "She's a profiler, worked in law enforcement for nearly seven years, it's just not practical to kill someone in your own home, Abby knows that."

"It could have been a sudden onset. Something set her off." Prentiss replied.

"And then she chops the body into pieces, hides the head somewhere and puts the parts in bags? The same bags she later places in the car she's driving?" Reid sarcastically sketched out.

"Okay, so why here?" Prentiss repeated the question.

"Let's look at it differently, why not here?" Hotch mumbled. "She knows at least half the cops in this city, she's almost a celebrity. Maybe she thought she could get away with it. Figured we wouldn't look here because they would all believe she was innocent. If they even found the body, because they only found it because of an anonymous tip."

"Yeah, a tip that I left behind myself." JJ shot at the group.

"I don't think so." Rossi suddenly said. "Look at this place. She's meticulous, neat, organised. Abby's not much of a 'spur of the moment' kind of woman."

"So, what if it isn't Abby? Why would our Unsub have chosen this particular place?" Morgan questioned, but by the tone in his voice and the expression on his face, he already knew the answer to that question.

"Because he knew Abby. It's personal." Hotch said, his mien stern and stark as he stood still a couple of steps away from the entrance, not having moved one bit. "Still, it contradicts the evidence."

"Hotch." Morgan caught his eyes. "There is no murder weapon and no head. What would Abby have done with the head? It's almost like it was taken as some sort of trophy. That would mean that Abby is a serial killer. Are you seriously considering that she is?"

"Or maybe Abby did do it. Overwhelmed by guilt she decides to make the call and hopes that they catch her. By getting rid of some of the evidence she will always be able to deny it, which would keep the city of Atlanta still on her side." Prentiss suggested. _Highly likely, good call._

"Still, there is no motive for Abby to have killed her best friend's fiancé." JJ replied. "Aside from the fact that they were getting married but, again, I don't see Abby as the jealous type."

Reid smiled weakly. "Not to forget, she's working with the BAU now. She moved out of Atlanta, works out of Quantico. Her relationship with Miles, it's not like it used to be." His voice went softer and down when speaking the last sentence. _Nothing is like it used to be_.

Morgan's phone rang and he quickly picked up. "Baby girl, tell me you have something."

"_I do. But you're not going to like it sweetheart."_

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
12.03

"Agent Hotchner."

Hotch, after arriving back at the station with his team, was just about to enter the interview room again, was stopped as he exited the conference room. SSA David McCallister walked up to him, quickly putting his phone in his pants – he finally changed his suit – and approached the tired looking man.

"McCallister."

"I heard you found the primary crime scene."

"Yes, PD did. We just got back from it."

McCallister sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. As he did it, Hotch' mind flashed back to one of the last times he saw Abby.

* * *

_December 11__th__. _

_Behaviour Analysis Unit, Quantico._

_22.14_

_They had returned late in the afternoon from Seattle, where an Unsub whom liked to embalm his victims had killed several women. Strangely enough, it hadn't bothered Hotch as much as it should. They didn't meet a lot of serial killers who took the time to learn the art of embalming and it was certainly something they did not see on a daily basis. Then again, after all these years – should he still be surprised? _

_Hotch was wrapping up his paperwork, putting the right piece of paper in the right brown case file as he found yet another rapport. He had missed it and placed in on top of his growing 'still to do' pile of files. Deciding he had been prolonging the work for too long, he stood up to get himself a cup of coffee and he would not leave until he had finished at least a quarter. As Hotch lifted himself from his office chair and he approached the open door, he spotted the desk light in the bull pen; brightness in darkness. From the opening of his office, he watched his newest agent with curiosity. It was no surprise to him that Abby was working late again, but it did not look like she was actually working. _

_She sat still in her chair, slightly slumped, her left arm on the arm chair, supporting her head. There was an envelope on her desk, on top of several other files. She was pinching the bridge of her nose as she rested her head on her fingers. Suddenly, Hotch realised that he been watching her do that more often over the past few weeks. He would wait, though, wait until he had the perfect strategy to approach the young woman without setting her on fire. _

* * *

"Why don't you come in?" Hotch extended his arm towards the room as if welcoming him in. "I was on my way to talk to Abby, but we'll update you first. If you want, you can watch in the other room."

"Thank you." Both men entered the room again and several heads looked up as they did. Mac's eyes went over the evidence boards, taking in what they had written down, the photos, the theories. He halted in front of the latest pictures; those of Abby's apartment. "Has it been confirmed?"

Hotch sighed shortly. "Yes. The blood matches Louisa Delgado."

"It doesn't look good for her, does it?"

"No." Rossi answered after Hotch hesitated. "It doesn't."

"Abby is always such a trouble maker. When she first joined the team, there was a bet going around the Headquarters. Odds were against here; she wouldn't last her first week. But she did and she continued on this... Path of victory. She and her team solved nearly every case that landed on their desks. I always knew though, I always knew she would end up in trouble so deep she couldn't get out herself." McCallister smiled at some of the memories that popped up in his head. Then he sighed heavily. "Either that, or she would be killed in the line of duty. Whenever someone reminded her of that, she would always smile at me and say 'To protect and serve, boss, to protect and serve'."

"What was she like?" Hotch asked carefully.

Mac rotated on his feet to shortly look at Hotch. Then he turned around to face the team and pocketed his hands. He smiled. "Determined. If Frankie had an idea in her head, she would not rest until she reached the end. She is relentless, driven. But she can also be a kind person, goodhearted and witty. She has an attitude, but to be honest, I don't think anyone would want her to lose that attitude. It makes her who she is. And then again, without that attitude, she wouldn't have been able to get half the things done she has done already. I've been running the SCU for seven years, Hotch. I've seen then come and go; some left, some died." He paused and closed his eyes briefly. "Three years ago, my daughter died. She was involved in a car accident, the driver took off. I hadn't told anybody yet, it wasn't on the news, not in the paper. My ex-wife and I were too shocked to get anything done. Meanwhile, we had a spree killer on our hands. Shooter, already killed four people. It ended in a surrounded, abandoned building and I couldn't really care what happened to me. I went in blind with emotions and before I knew it, I was staring him right in the face, his gun pointed at me. He pulled the trigger... Frankie threw herself in the line of fire and took the bullet. The team took him in and Abby never spoke a word of it. That's Frankie. She is willing to die for the rest of the world."

"Abby said that you two never got along well." Hotch replied, watching McCallister closely, but at the same time his mind was wondering off, thinking about this person that they, as it turned out, hardly knew at all.

Mac chuckled. "Frankie and I, we're the same. I used to be that driven and determined. We're both stubborn as hell, that's the reason my wife left me. As Abby would say 'We're buttheads. Buttheads collide, that's what they do. No hard feelings though'. Abby was mentored by Trevor Harrison. He had the reputation to bend the rules a bit. Abby always did the same, bending the rules, but she always knew when and where to stop. After the death of half the team, the department has been under close supervision. I felt like I had to keep them, Abby, in line otherwise we might lose what we had built. Abby didn't understand that. She hates politics. That's usually the reason why we would argue. One of us would start yelling and the other started too. I respect her and I know she respects me. That's all we needed to know."

There was a silence as the team carefully glanced at each other. Garcia, whom had been fascinatingly listening with her head rested on the palm of her head smiled kindly. "She sounds like an amazing person."

McCallister looked at her. "Yeah. She is. Or at least, she used to be. A lot of things have changed since our English brat walked into the office on her first day." He shortly looked around. "Has Abby told you about the real story revolving her transfer?"

"You're saying the story we knew isn't the real one?" Rossi commented quickly. He immediately looked at Hotch.

"Agent Wills applied for her transfer." McCallister confessed.

The team's responses were mixed. Prentiss made a face, her eyes widened and she quickly sought Rossi's. Rossi on the other hand, was staring down Hotch, whom ignored his penetrating looks. Garcia made a compassionate sound before shifting her gaze towards Morgan. Morgan had closed his eyes temporarily and sighed. Reid and JJ looked at each other, both with expressions as if it all suddenly made sense.

"Abby doesn't know though." He added suddenly. But before anyone could react, Hotch already spoke.

"She does. I wanted to know why her unit chief transferred her. She didn't know."

"Well, I'm sure she knew something. One day she's busy chasing down perps in Atlanta, that afternoon she gets called into my office and she's ordered to grab her stuff, get on a plane and she had to move to Quantico the next day. She must have known something was going on."

"That would explain her behaviour. In her eyes, her team literally dumped her." Rossi said.

"Why did Wills want to transfer her?" JJ asked curiously.

The tall man raised his shoulders. "I don't know. But with the trouble Abby was getting herself into, I didn't need a lot of reasons. She can be the best of the best. It was time that she would grow up. But that's not everything." McCallister suddenly said as if he just remembered. "She was supposed to be transferred to New York, to a violent crimes division." He paused again. "But she wanted to go to Quantico."

"She requested a transfer to the BAU?" Reid asked surprised.

"Yes. Section chief Strauss and I worked it out and Abby didn't mind working for half the normal salary."

"Why would she request a transfer to the BAU?" Rossi thought out loud.

"You guys are the best." Mac answered. "Abby always said she wanted to work with the best."

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
12.30

_Time since arrest: 16 hours. Time left: 32 hours._

Abby didn't speak as Hotch entered the interview room. She waited for him to say anything as he sat down and put the case file on the table. Hotch took her in for a moment; blue bags under her eyes, paler than before. It was obvious she hadn't slept and was worried. Hotch just couldn't figure out why she was worried. Abby sniffed and leant back, her right hand still attached to the metal table.

"It doesn't look good, Abby." Hotch commented superficial. Again, Abby didn't speak. She waited for Hotch to continue and elaborate his comment. "We found the primary crime scene."

"Good for you." She replied shortly.

"Your old apartment?" This caused Abby to look up at Hotch, her eyes widened slightly. "Blood is a match to Louisa. She was murdered in your old loft."

She looked down.

"We also found this." Hotch pushed a photograph forward. "Your hair in the bag."

"Could have fallen in." She retorted.

"It was found inside the bag, between limbs. Then there is blood under Louisa's fingernails and your bloody print inside the car."

"You think I did this." The Brit concluded tiredly.

"It doesn't matter what I think."

"It matters to me."

"Evidence is pointing at you, Abby."

"Well, if the evidence is saying I did it, then that will be the case, won't it?"

"Not unless you convince us otherwise."

Abby laughed. "Convince? Convince who? I already got fucking arrested, God knows what _you_ are doing out there and I'm still cuffed to a friggin' table. I could convince Jesus that he was adopted, it wouldn't change a thing. You think I did this."

"Why are you making this so hard for yourself?" Hotch asked her.

"I'm not doing anything, Hotch, I'm just sitting her playing the perfect suspect."

"Exactly, you're not doing anything. Why not?"

"Oh, what does it matter Hotch?!"

"It matters because the way we're looking at it, you're going to jail. For murder." He emphasised the last words, but they did not seem to affect her. "We talked to McCallister. He speaks very highly of you."

"So?"

"So? It's obvious that we don't know you at all."

Abby rapidly leant forward, the cold and unfazed expression on her face quickly making way for-…_Something_. "Wait a minute, are you-? You're profiling _me _now?"

"Abby, there is a possibility someone is trying to set you up. And right now, that person is doing a real good job and the only way to catch whoever truly did this, is through you."

"You have to be kidding me." Abby laughed and looked around the room, shaking her head.

Hotch sighed – he knew it was futile, but he should try nonetheless. "If you know anything, you can tell us. You can trust us."

As expected, Abby scoffed and didn't even glance in his direction.

"Abby, I know that things have been rough lately but I would like to remind you that while there is still a possibility you didn't do it, evidence is still pointing at you and unless we give them the real Unsub, it's a done deal."

"I don't know anything." She had wiped the emotions off her face again as she stared Hotch down.

"You haven't noticed a thing?"

"Nope."

"Why are you being so defensive?" Hotch started. "We're trying to help you."

"I don't need your fucking help."

"There's something you don't want us to find."

"There is nothing to find except the son of a bitch that killed Louisa!"

"We will find out eventually." Hotch told her, but he comment only caused her to laugh again.

"Hotch, you wouldn't be able to find anything if it was right in front of you."

He wondered if she even cared at all. When had she relentlessly stopped caring so quickly? And why? And why was is it that whenever it involved Abby Scott, that more questions were created rather than answered?

* * *

"_Truth, as any dictionary will tell you, is a property of certain of our ideas. It means their 'agreement', as falsity means their disagreement, with 'reality'.  
_William James_  
_


	4. The excuse

"_And oftentimes excusing of a fault, doth make the fault the worse by the excuse."  
_William Shakespeare_  
_

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
12.26

Being team leader has its perks. You get to call the shots, you lead the team towards victory. You get your own office, a personal assistant. There is your name on the door. At parties, you get to say you run the BAU's primary team. But after all his years as supervisor, Hotchner had learnt that being the leader of the team actually has more downsides than upsides. First, there is the paperwork. Secondly, your ass is the first to be kicked when something goes wrong. You are the face of the team; every mistake will be matched to your face. And being the one who makes the decisions isn't always that grand either. As Hotch was looking at Abby Scott's FBI photo, holding the paper in his hand, he was realising even more than ever that being team leader pretty much sucked.

He had sent the team out for lunch. To clear their heads. They could use some time away from this black hole that was pulling them down with all its force. It was another thing of being a leader; late hours, over time and staying behind. Chief Miller may have been young to run a police department, he knew all the things about being a leader. He appeared in the doorway, a smooth shaved and fresh face, uniform neat and clean, his expression light and open.

"It doesn't look good for her, does it?" He said.

Hotch looked up at him slightly startled having not heard him enter the room. "No. It doesn't. There is physical evidence linking her to the crime and she has no alibi."

"And there is, unfortunately, no unwritten law that FBI agents would never intentionally kill another person. Pretty heavy burden you're carrying there. Isn't there someone else who can do this?" Miller suggested kindly.

"If it were one of yours officers on the line here, would you have handed the case to someone else?" Hotch replied and raised an eyebrow.

Miller smiled. "I get your point. Still, if it were one of my guys, and he didn't do it, he would at least try his best to clear his name."

"What are you saying?" Hotch asked, a frown appearing on his forehead.

"She doesn't look like much help, agent Hotchner." When Hotch didn't respond, the man shrugged. "I never figured her as the type."

"And what type would she be?" It was more a question directed at himself, yet Miller took the opportunity to answer it.

"Frankie always seemed like one of the good guys. She knew the people, talked to them a lot. She kept an eye out on and for them. But, then again, she always had this wild, uncontrolled drive in her that caused her to -.. Well, for a lack of better words, she could drive herself over the edge of the cliff." Hotch again, didn't replied. "Just let me know if there is anything, and I mean _anything_, we can do for you guys."

"Thank you." Hotch said and watched the younger man leave again. The frown had settled on his forehead and the thoughts had started to kick in. There was something about what Miller said that caused to ring a bell. He scribbled something down on a piece of paper and left it to be found for the first member of his team to find. Then, with confident steps, Hotch left the room and marched towards interview room 1.

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
13.00

_Time since arrest: 19 hours. Time left: 29 hours._

"Do you do it?" Hotch demanded to know, placing both his hands on the table, not sitting down, staring at the female agent in front of him. Instead of being intimidated by his entrance and the tone of his voice, she didn't move and looked at her boss from under her eyebrows. For a moment, she only looked at him, lips pursed, jawline tensed, eyes sharp. There was a bruise on the side of her cheek. Morgan had slammed her into the table a little harder than intended.

"Did you murder Louisa Delgado?" Hotch repeated.

She licked her lips and bit her lower lip. She broke eye contact.

Hotch sat down and continued to pry into her head with just his eyes. "Abby, if you didn't do it, then why aren't you telling us?"

She sought words, her eyes intertwined with Hotch' and then broke away again. She couldn't _actually_ say it.

The black haired man – black suit, white shirt – stood up again and left the room. He had seen enough. She had showed him everything he needed to know. The look on her face when the tension was let go, how she looked away and closed her eyes – he knew enough.

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
13.29

He was on to something. They could all tell. He had requested a file from Quantico and dug himself into Abby's personal file. He was chasing a lead like a dog was chasing a scent and no one dared to disrupt his trail towards closure. Garcia was asked to fully analyse the 911 call that was made. JJ, after reading the note when she and Garcia came back from lunch, called the SCU and requested for their immediate presence.

An officer appeared around the door, knocking before entering. "Excuse me, agents? SCU's here."

They came together, in a group, a pact. They had been hurt from the inside and like any good group of Spartan warriors, they grew closer and tight, making sure no one would be able to enter from the inside again, and they would only have to watch the outside, guarding the castle, fighting them off with their impressive shields of Greek steel. If someone would falter to their knees, they would feel it and they could lift him up again. If one of them would fall to the ground, they would notice, pick him up and group around him. Hotch could instantly tell that this was a close knit group. He hadn't expected anything else; they had seen to many things together, lost loved ones, they'd been threatened from both the outside and inside. Making them talk about a former member was going to be hard, and they were going to be reluctant. She was still one of them, as McCallister had so kindly put it. Hotch gave his team clear instructions – approach with understanding and kind comments, don't assault them.

SSA Angie Wills was one of those agents that was just from another universe. Her resume was more than incredibly impressive and when she walked into the police station, she instantly demanded authority and respect just by being present. Her black hair was long and tied up in a ponytail. She screamed professionalism at whoever was listening. Her dark brown, almond eyes could have been suave and sexy, had they not held this stark and cold glance in them. Her face was well proportioned with high cheekbones and full lips and her skin held a natural glow. Angie Wills could have passed as a retired model if she wasn't walking around with a badge around her neck and a gun attached to her hip. She wore black. They all wore black. SSA Holly 'Lewy' Lewis was a different story. Whereas Angie Wills still held a natural glow to her appearance, Holly Lewis was ice cold. Her skin was slightly tanned, yet the air that hung around her, her expression on her face – she was apathetic and arrogant. With strong jawlines, a sharp nose, pursed, deep pink lips and deep set, hooded eyes she almost looked like a robot. She was skinny and moved swiftly and light. Behind the two women walked SSA Ricardo Pinõ, the Cuban of the company. Big brows, big nose, full lips, wide face, round and open eyes. He was big and held broad shoulders, but he could easily pass through a crowd without being noticed. It was obvious though, that 'Cuba' was the goof of the group.

"Agent Hotchner?" Angie Will's voice could equally be that pleasant like her looks, would it not hold a certain coldness.

Hotch didn't want them to see that they started profiling their former teammate, nor did he want them to see the pictures of their dead friend hanging on a bulletin board. He had asked Chief Dawson for some free space and the chief gladly provided it. He stepped forward when Wills called out his name.

"Agent Wills."

They shook and Wills took a moment to take in the man in front of her. Her faithful followers each took a side behind her. Wills nodded over her shoulder as she introduced them. "SSA Lewis and SSA Pinõ." This woman was purely professional.

"Thank you for coming." Hotch guided them towards the second room the BAU had put to use, where the others were waiting. "SSA Derek Morgan and Emily Prentiss."

Lewy sent him a cold glare as she looked at them. None of them bothered to shake more hands. Lewy positioned herself in the corner of the room, sitting atop the table. Cuba stood next to her, a couple of feet in space between them. Wills sat down on a chair at the table, yet she still sat right in front of her team and opposite of Hotch'.

"What can we do for you?" Wills asked politely.

"First of all, we'd like to offer you our condolences. We're sorry to meet under these circumstances."

"Thank you." The woman nodded once, licked her lips and was obviously awaiting her answer.

"We'd like to get a better image of Abby." Hotch started off.

The other dark haired SCU agent in the room snorted. "You're profiling her." Lewy replied. Her voice was as cool, cold and as lackadaisical as her appearance.

"Yes." Hotch answered honestly. Lewis wasn't expecting such a truthful answer and her eyes were casted at him shortly. "We want to get to the bottom of this but Abby is not helping."

Pinõ smiled at himself. "Of course she isn't. You think she did it."

"Cuba." Wills said warningly, and it surprised the BAU team that she would address him by his nickname.

"Honestly, we don't know. There is some evidence that supports the theory that she did, in fact, kill Louisa Delgado-"

"Such as?" Lewis immediately questioned. This time, Wills didn't call her team back.

"The anonymous phone call, the fact that the caller sounds like Abby, the detailed information she was able to give Atlanta PD, including the hotel they were staying at, the license plate and the fact that the caller knew she wouldn't be traveling alone." Prentiss summed.

"That information is easily acquired, agent Prentiss." Wills shot at her.

"Then how do you explain this?" Hotch grabbed an evidence bag from the file in front of him and placed in front of Wills on the table. She looked at it, before looking back at Hotch. "It's Abby's hair. Forensics found it _inside_ the bag that contained the body parts." He explained.

Not one of the three musketeers spoke. Pinõ looked at Lewis, his expression filled with shock.

"It could have been planted there; it's obvious someone is setting her up." Lewis' voice was suddenly filled with emotions. She was no longer leaning back against the wall - she had jumped of the table.

"That is a possibility." Hotch replied coolly. He passed a photograph over the table. "Dried blood was found under Louisa's nail. It's a match to Abby. Then there is a bloody fingerprint on the inside of the car. Fingerprint is a match to Abby and the blood belongs from Louisa Delgado."

Wills sighed and the three of them knew there was no escaping anymore – they had to talk to Hotch and his team because he was right; the evidence was against Abby and it started to look more and more like she murdered Louisa. Still, it was Cuba whom stepped forward and sat down with determination fixed on his face. "What do you want to know?"

"What was she like?" Morgan asked him, his voice kind, gentle and smooth as always.

"Seriously? What was she like? She's Frankie. She's -.." He glanced over his shoulder at his colleagues, almost as if pleading for help. "Frankie is Frankie. Cocky, hyperactive, funny, witty, tough Frankie. You know her, you've worked with her for eight months."

"Prentiss, could you describe Scott for me?" Hotch asked to prove a point.

"Uhm.. Strong willed, stark, at times witty but overall dark and secretive."

"What?" Pinõ blurted out. "That's not the Frankie we know."

"So tell us about the Frankie you know." Hotch told them. He looked at Wills, whom had her eyes casted at the floor and was trying hard not to be in the room. When the silence fell, she looked up and sighed.

"Frankie is the most promising agent I have ever met in my life." She started. "Her insight in people's behaviour is while incredible, also frightening. Five out of ten cases, she is able to hand you your perp on a golden plate. But her talent to read behaviour and people's faces is not the only thing that makes her so special. She is able to put herself in the killer's shoes. She has the ability to think just like them."

"That just sounds like a hell of a profiler. You've seen them, what they can do." Hotch commented dryly.

"When was the last time you met a profiler that was able to predict your Unsub's favourite food and colour, agent Hotchner? Abby knows things that not many people can know. She understands darkness and she's been keeping it a secret because it's not a talent or something that comes in handy. It's a curse. She thinks we don't know, but we know _her_. We've seen her gazing at pictures, mumbling to herself with this shade in front of her eyes. As you said, agent Hotchner, I've seen them. Dealt with them all. But I have never in all my years met someone like Frankie Scott."

"In all these years with the SCU," Lewis spoke. "I've never seen her lose it. She was always so controlled. We chased monsters and they hit us and kicked us and they would shoot at us, but she never crossed the boundaries. Sure, she would come up with some witty reply and we would laugh our heads of later, but she never lost control."

The group slowly rested their gazes on Ricardo Pinõ, a gaze he gladly returned with confusion. "I don't know what to tell you. She makes the best pizza in the world. She gets drunk but rarely has hangovers. She likes to read books upside down. She loves a good prank and whenever we were on stake outs, Frankie and I always held a contest over the radio to see who could come up with the best joke."

"What about her relationship with Miles?" Hotch listened with fascination to the description of Abby's ex-co-workers and he resisted the urge to ask them to continue.

Lewis snorted. "Frankie and Miles were like Siamese twins, Laurel and Hardy, Bonnie and Clyde, you name it. Those two, those two were soul mates."

"Anything other than friendship ever going on between them?" Morgan questioned carefully.

Pinõ laughed. "What, Frankie and Miles? No way. And before you're going to ask, Frankie loved Louisa. They got along great, and she was overly excited for Miles. I fact-" Cuba raised his finger to emphasize his next words and squinted, "Frankie is the one who push Miles to go for her. She likes to think that she's the reason they met, which is not entirely true, but she is the one who made sure Miles would go over and talk to Louisa. Frankie was damned proud of that."

"That's good, thank you." Hotch said to the small group of SCU agents. "I've promised McCallister to keep him updated, I'm sure he will keep you updated as well."

Wills, Lewis and Pinõ left, secretly stealing glances from each other and the BAU team as they marched back outside. Wills however, she was wearing her icy cold, stark mask again, button her jacket, shook Hotchner's hand and left, her two team members following close behind.

* * *

"_If man were immortal he could be perfectly sure of seeing the day when everything in which he had trusted should betray his trust, and, in short, of coming eventually to hopeless misery."  
_Charles Sanders Peirce_  
_


	5. Survive or perish

"_Evolution is an imperfect and often violent process. A battle between what exists, and what is yet to be born. In the midst of these birth pains, morality loses its meaning. The question of good and evil reduced to one simple choice: survive, or perish."_

Tim Kring.

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
14.29

Coffee kept them going. The caffeine would blow their veins open, allowing the blood to pump faster, their hearts to beat quicker, their minds to be sharpened like a pencil. The Ethiopians had discovered and created a magical drink and the Arabs should be thanked for distributing the beverage. And yet, despite the bitter, almost acidic taste of the dark liquid, or the fake, bad caramel-like flavour when you poured in too much sugar, or the soft, kind caramel taste when combining coffee with warm milk, none of it seemed to work at this time. They hadn't even reached midday and already they were regularly running towards the coffee machine. Even Hotch, whom normally wasn't seen drinking that much coffee, was walking around with his third cup of the day. It wasn't that much of a surprise when considering they had been working for the past three days – _out of the frying pan and into the fire, they ran. _

Coffee could do only so much.

"Okay, I've analysed the 9-1-1 call our Unsub made as you asked." Garcia said tiredly. The team put down their case files, pens, markers and sat down at the table, as close to where Garcia was sitting. "This is the original call." She pressed a button on her laptop and the team waited anxiously.

"_9-1-1 what's your emergency?"_

"_My name is Supervisory Special Agent Abby Franklin Scott. I just murdered a woman. I am staying at the Castleberry Inn & Suites. I will be leaving around eight in a black SUV, licence plate 8-2-4-6 Charlie, Foxtrot, Zulu. It will be federal cars. I will be leaving with a man; he has nothing to do with this."_

"_Ma'am, can you tell me where you are now? …. Ma'am? ….. Hello?"_

"That sounds like Abby." Rossi commented dryly.

"That's because it is Abby's voice." Garcia answered. "It did a comparison with audio from interviews she's given, it's a 96% match, which is more than acceptable. However, there is something hinky."

"Hinky?" Morgan repeated.

Garcia played the tape again, only this time she slowed it down drastically. "You hear that?"

"What is that? It's like there are pauses between some words." JJ noted.

"It's pre-recorded. Whomever did this, created this tape from those same interviews I used for comparison. It was fabricated." The blonde tech-girl explained and smiled. She looked at Hotch. "That's a good thing, right?"

"That means she didn't call or that she has an accomplice. It doesn't clear her for the murder though." Hotch replied.

"So there is a third party involved." Prentiss concluded.

"Or she created this tape herself in order to throw us off, make us believe she didn't do it." Rossi suggested, allowing the dark and cold air in the room to return. There had been a sparkle of hope.

"It doesn't make sense though." Reid started. "If she made the tape herself, what was she hoping to achieve? Stall us? Why? She placed the body in the same car she was driving and with that tape led us directly to it. If the call hadn't been made, she would have been back in Quantico before anyone figured it out and she would have plenty of time to escape if she wanted to." As always, Spencer Reid was at Abby's defence again.

"Or someone else made the tape. Either as Abby's partner or to set her up." Morgan added.

"But we only found evidence that links Abby to the murder. If she does have a partner, I doubt it would be Abby who left the traces behind." JJ suddenly said. "Reid, you said it yourself, she's been with law enforcement for nearly eight years. Surely, she wouldn't make a mistake like that?"

"That leaves the attempt to set Abby up." Rossi decided. He looked at Hotch. "What are the odds that someone will go through the length and the trouble to set an FBI agent up, like this?"

"We need to know what she was working on." Hotch said determined. He looked at Garcia. "I want all her current cases, anything she is working on off the clock. Have someone go through her desk at Quantico to look for anything that might case her to draw the attention of someone."

"Do you really think someone is setting her up?" Reid asked carefully, yet hopeful. The young man's eyes interlaced with his boss', his expression so damned innocent.

"I don't know. But it's an angle we can't afford not to chase down. Morgan, do you have a profile of Abby yet?"

The tall, dark man sighed nearly inaudible. He put down his coffee and grabbed a case file. Morgan was asked to build a detailed profile on their subject. Normally, that wasn't how they worked, but as Hotch kept stressing, Scott wasn't _just_ a suspect. She was also a highly intelligent woman working for the FBI. '_She used to work __with__ you, she knows how you work'._

"Abby Franklin Scott. Caucasian. Female. Seventy-seven. Single. She was born in London, England. Her mother was English, her father was American. When she was six, her mother left her and her brother. Her father took them both back to America and they moved to Atlanta. At the age of fifteen, she drops out of high school. A year later, she comes back and finishes both high school and college before joining the Army when she's eighteen."

"She did high school and college in two years?" Prentiss asked in disbelieve.

"I was twelve when I was in high school." Reid bit back dryly.

"Right." The dark-haired woman replied, slightly taken aback by Reid's fierce response.

"Why'd she drop out?" Hotch asked.

"There's no record of it." Garcia answered that question, looking up from behind her computer's screen.

"In Chicago she said she started partying, visited raves, used drugs." Morgan enlightened, recalling the conversation they held in Molly Polen's apartment in Chicago.

"Mmmh." Rossi made a sound. "She never struck me as the type."

"I guess you don't know someone until you profile them." JJ replied, her head was resting on the arm that she had placed on the table. She looked terrible.

Morgan moved on. "She lives in a small house in Dumfries with her dog, a German shepherd. He's had police dog training. She keeps her home clean and neat."

"She also has a rather sophisticated security system, cameras included." Reid interrupted his colleague.

Rossi frowned but let Morgan continue. "There aren't a lot of pictures, nothing too personal. No achievements or diploma's on the wall.

"That's no surprise." Prentiss quipped. "She's smart and successful, but she doesn't show it off in terms of materialism. She rather uses and proves it in the field."

"Overall the furnishing is modern or contemporary." Morgan concluded on the part of the profile that covered living arrangements.

"Impersonal and functional." Rossi shrugged. "If it works, why change it? If you can do impersonal, why does it need to be anything different? It's easy and easy to leave behind." He glanced at Hotch. "In case she should 'relocate', or something."

"Her desk isn't any different. Clean, tight, everything has its own space, orderly and highly functional. She keeps everything she has to do on her left so once she's done, she can move it to her right. From there on, there are several stacks; follow-up, to Hotch, mail." JJ added while realising how many things had been right under their noses and yet something you hardly looked at. _Hello…. Is anybody there….. The night train has arrived, this is your chance to ride along._

"You seem detailed about her home, though." Rossi suddenly said to Morgan.

He only looked at the older man. "I've visited her place a couple of times. First time was when she got injured. Last time was after she returned from Atlanta, about a month ago."

Rossi didn't respond. However, his entire body language and eyes were still set on Morgan and they could clearly tell he didn't believe a word Morgan just spoke. Morgan, however, let it slide and grabbed another piece of paper from the file in front of him. "Employment. There's nothing before the age of 18, as we know she joined the Army at 18, after that there was the DEA and then the FBI. There's nothing new here."

"All law enforcement." Prentiss noticed. "She could continue her way of life as she was taught in the Army; disciplined, strict."

"It gives her structure." Hotch suddenly said wary. "But one would only need structure such like this in ones work life if their personal life's are disorganized or dysfunctional."

"She doesn't go out much, not a lot of friends. Abby lives, eats and breaths her work. She often took cases home with her to work on them there." Reid confirmed.

He sipped on his coffee and played with the pen in his hand. He was nervous and avoiding eye contact. He was hearing the night train. He could hear it hiss like a snake and howl like the wolf. It was beckoning him and he was unsure of what to do. Would he dare to cross that line? They hoped not, because the night train was not for him. It would eat him alive. Swallow him whole.

"Why would she take cases home with her? She already works late more than anyone else." Rossi questioned.

"Night security usually throws her out at midnight." The young genius explained. He shrugged when several pairs of eyes looked at him.

"She stays till midnight? Doesn't she get enough of it?" Garcia asked dumbfounded.

"She's a workaholic and her job defines who she is." Rossi elaborated as if it was plain simple.

"Plus, she suffers from free-running disorder." Hotch added. "It's like insomnia."

"Poor thing." Garcia mumbled. "So in-between her not being able to sleep and regular work hours, she works cases because she has nothing else to do. That's actually kind of sad."

"We all make our own choices." Hotch replied.

Morgan opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. He was absent for the fraction of a second, before he grabbed another piece of paper. "In the Army, she was a Ranger stationed in Africa. She stayed there until she was twenty. Then she did a tour in Iraq before training training-officers in West Point and Fort Lewis. She resigned later that year, but there's something weird going on here." Morgan admitted.

"Why? What is it?" Hotch looked up from the records they had of Abby before the age of eighteen.

"There is nothing about what she did in the Army. The only records we have are classified."

"That _is_ strange." Rossi mumbled.

Hotch sighed and grabbed a photo from the case file he had JJ sent over from Quantico. '_Time to let the cat out of the bag, Hotch'_. "This is a picture of the West Point training staff in '02. That's the same year and around the same time Abby presumably went to Went Point."

"Presumably?" Morgan repeated.

"She's not on it."

"She could have been sick that day." Reid said, again his voice snappy and short.

"I checked. She's not in any pictures from the time that her records say she was there. I even talked to some people, they've never even heard of her. However, both her and West Point records say she was." Hotch told his team.

"It's fake." Rossi concluded. Then he added. "How long have you been brooding on this?"

"Shortly after she joined the BAU." Hotch answered truthfully.

"But why would these records be faked? Why would she been registered there, if she wasn't actually there?" Jennifer thought out loud.

"I don't know." Hotch replied. "But more importantly, who made this happen?"

"Good question." Morgan admitted.

All eyes swiftly moved towards Garcia, but she raised her hands. "I've dug, believe me I have. I've been cyber-digging so deep, my real-life hands hurt. I can't find anything."

"What happened after that?" Hotch continued, deciding to leave it rest for now.

"Not much." Morgan said. "She got her degrees in Psychology and Criminology. After that she joined the DEA where she worked for a year. She requested an internship at Scotland Yard, to which she was accepted. In 2004, when she's almost twenty-three, she comes back to Atlanta, works on her PhD in Mathematics and an underdegree in World History. Once she finally turns twenty-three, she joins the FBI. She works with CIRG in Atlanta and two years later she is recruited for the SCU. The rest, we know." Morgan finished.

"Psychology, Criminology, Mathematics and World History." JJ mumbled.

"What is it JJ?" Prentiss asked, a slight tone of curiosity and worry in her voice.

"Those are all static, exact subjects. Facts and rules." Some of the miens that stared at her were starting to show frowns. "It lacks creativity." The blonde explained.

"Well, it fits with her personality, right?" The other blonde suggested. Morgan only shrugged, not confirming the theory, but also no rejecting it. '_He was superficial. Undecided. Undecided, Hotch'_.

"Are we sure she was with the DEA?" Rossi asked suspiciously.

"Yeah, we have pictures and her name appears in and on reports. She was definitely there." Garcia told him.

"Any other strange things?" Prentiss questioned.

"Other than the fact that she was inside a café with a man and a bomb on her very first day of the FBI, she handles her money very well because she has a real good looking bank account, she appears to be clean. Oh, she never sold her old apartment in Atlanta."

"Of course not." Eyes were directed towards their leader. "Just in case she might.." Hotch let everyone else fill in the blanks. "Garcia, you said that she was in a café with…?"

"A man and a bomb, yes. March 2005, she walks into a café shortly before Justin O'Malley walks in as well with a bomb around his stomach. He had already killed five people and he took about fifteen people hostage, including Abby. Once hostage negotiators learn that she was inside and when they couldn't find a way to connect with the bomber, they let Abby do the work. Whatever happened, it went South, badly, and four people died in the blast."

"Hell of a way to start your first day." Prentiss commented dryly.

"Why would she lie to us?" Morgan suddenly blurted out, his mind still stuck on the lie about her military records.

"For the same reason everybody lies." Rossi replied, an underlying tone of friendliness and kindness vaguely saturating his voice.

"She's hiding something." Hotch finished Rossi's answer.

There was another penetrating, distasteful silence as each other the members of the BAU either stared at files in front of them, or at least avoided eye contact with anybody else. Hotch looked around room, absorbed their tired and pale faces, the blue circles underneath their eyes, the bags, Reid's body language, the faint frown of worry on Morgan's forehead, the air Prentiss was carrying around her. He sighed and dropped his file on the table he was sitting behind.

"Look, guys, I know this is hard, but if we want to know what really happened, we need to be prepared."

Hotch' attention was drawn away from the group as Reid scoffed. He sat slumped down in his chair, eyes fixed on his fingers that seemed to be picking on themselves. "You got something on your mind, Reid?" Hotch asked with a stern voice.

"Yeah I got something on my mind- " Reid's head popped up. "- like, for instance the thought that Abby is innocent?"

"Reid-"

Reid immediately cut off his supervisor. "No. You've already judged her. You're talking about her like she isn't a person that we've worked with for almost eight months."

"Reid, I get it." Morgan told him, but the young genius was quick with his sarcastic reply.

"Do you?"

"I do. She was my partner. You remember Chicago? I was in the same position as she is in now. What did you do? You dug. If you hadn't we would probably have never caught Buford. Sometimes, sometimes you need to dig up the dirt before you can get to the truth."

"She didn't do it." Reid's voice was softer now, but still firm and determined.

"Then let's prove it." Morgan retorted.

"I just don't get what turning her entire life upside down, has to do with proving her innocence."

"Reid, you know Abby. Right now, she's angry, cornered and threatened. You think she'll talk to us?"

"No." Reid answered defeated as he looked at Morgan.

"We are trying to help her, Reid, I promise you that. But you of all people should know. She is not going to talk unless we push her. Let's say she didn't do it. Then this was clearly an attempt to set her up. How will we find out who set her up if we don't know her?"

Reid didn't answer that question. Hotch would later on wonder why. Perhaps because he knew the answer. Perhaps because he had been afraid of it. It didn't matter. Reid bobbed his head up and down and sighed deeply. He apologized – again – and they continued. Again.

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
15.54

Cases easily slip into a messy state. At one moment, you think you're in control. You have a body, primary crime scene, working profile, a suspect and just before the confession, Santa comes early and hands you a present. The murder weapon doesn't match. DNA results are inconclusive. There isn't enough DNA. Time span doesn't fit. Sudden alibi. Or worse; there is a second body while you have your suspect in custody. And then, all of the sudden, you're back to square one and have to run the marathon all over again. You'll have to look at new angles, find new, darker corners to investigate, dig up more dirt, chase new theories and ideas. You went from approaching the finish line to the back of the line to just crossing the starting line.

Prentiss stood in front of the evidence board that covered Louisa's murder. Pictures of the dismembered body in go-bags, the bags relatively clean of blood indicating that she bled out before the parts were put in the bags. There were no fingerprints on the doors other than Abby's. Not even Reid's prints were on the car, apart from on the passenger's door. Castleberry Inn & Suites had provided security camera coverage – Abby's surprised reaction was visible on the tapes, yet there was something else. Once she closed the trunk and walked past the back of the car, she glanced back at the rear end of the vehicle. She was suspicious of the packages and the look on her face was only confirming that she had been surprised to see them there. Then again, Abby was a good liar and she was proving that again and again.

"I still don't get the significance of the head." The brunette said.

Rossi looked up from his notes, sitting in the chair positioned in the corner of the room. Garcia stopped staring at her laptop's screen and looked at her colleague. She made a face when her eyes caught the photos.

"It suggests that the Unsub took them as a trophy." Reid replied, who had been standing in front of the time line they had created for Abby. He now turned and took a seat behind the round table in the middle of the room.

"Doesn't that usually mean serial killer?" Garcia asked weary. They all knew where she was going.

"What if it's not?" Hotch suddenly suggested. "What if it's part of his signature?"

"He can't complete his act without taking the head?" Prentiss repeated.

"It could be because it has to do something with it." Rossi added, pocketing his notes again before folding his hands on his lap. Something was all bugging them.

"What if," Reid stood up from his chair, one hand in the air, and approached Louisa Delgado's board. "What if the Unsub has to complete a set action or repetitive act on the head? That what he does to the head is in fact his signature? That could mean that he took the head in order not to give himself up but he could still perform that one thing he absolutely has to do in order to complete the murder?"

"A serial killer is trying to set Abby up and in order not to blow his identity he takes the head?" JJ questioned and looked around the room. It sounded ridiculous.

"It is possible." Hotch contradicted JJ's feelings. "That would mean he knew Abby and that there is some form of investigation done into his previous murders. JJ, has Abby's laptop come in yet?"

JJ shook her head. "An agent is driving it here as we speak, he should be here soon."

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
16.00

_Time since arrest: 20 hours. Time left: 28 hours._

"Talk me through last night again."

"Why?"

"Humour me."

"I laid down, Reid was at the door, we left, approached the car, bags were in, we drove, police squad behind us, got pulled over, was questioned, body was found, got arrested."

"Was there anything out of the ordinary?"

"Like what? A homicidal maniac two cars behind us? A creepy murderer watching us leave from the window in the room above mine? A dark shadow around the corner?"

"Maybe."

"Or maybe you're just wasting your time."

"You _are_ wasting my time. But unlike you, I actually want to see you walk out of here as a free woman."

"Sure you do."

"Give me another reason why I would still be here. We don't need your confession for a conviction, Abby. With the evidence we have, the profile, it's enough to lock you up."

"Ya."

"But you don't seem to care."

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Good question, Hotch, why don't you take your little group and go figure that out."

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
16.13

"Is it possible Abby's an accomplice?" Prentiss suddenly questioned.

Morgan had been quite and kept out of the conversation. However, after hearing Prentiss' comment, he looked up. "She's too dominant, too secluded to have a partner."

"I agree." Rossi added after glancing in Morgan's direction. "She would have to put complete faith in her partner, literally put her life in his hands. She's not the type."

Reid had that same look in his eyes again – the sparkle in his orbs he had when they stood in Abby's old loft. There was something, swimming right in front of his eyes but whenever his eyes wanted to focus on it, it dissipated. Yet this time, this time Hotch could see recognition on his face. He knew something and he wasn't sharing with the group. This might have to worry him but he knew Reid. Reid wouldn't endanger their team. He would not let Abby walk if he thought she was actually a killer or accomplice.

"That's odd." Garcia suddenly mumbled as her fingers pressed the keyboard at high speed.

"What is?" JJ asked the blonde tech before she leant in closer.

"I hadn't noticed it before, but the deeper I go into Abby's file, the more I get hit in the face with a big, red 'no access' sign."

"You don't have the clearance?" Prentiss questioned surprised. Garcia always had access to everything. That's what made her dangerous if you got on her bad side.

"I have the clearance, it's just locked. And there is no… There is no particular agency behind it. It's literally just locked."

"Could Scott have done that?" Rossi looked at Hotch. Both men knew what they were thinking.

"It's possible, but it's pretty high tech."

"Get Bronckovic to the station." Hotch barked. Accomplice or not, Abby was definitely involved in some sort of complot.

"I'll ask one of the uniforms." JJ said quickly and she stood up to leave the room.

A loud bleep came from Garcia's computer and she raised her eyebrows after she opened the file. "Sir?" She looked up at Hotch. "I did a full search on anything that included Abby's name. It was mostly just newspapers articles, her name mentioned in correlation with the FBI, emails she sent, stuff like that, but I found something."

The team immediately got from their chairs and hurried to stand behind Garcia. "It was hidden pretty good, but I found it in an old email Milo Bronckovic once sent Abby, back in 2001."

"Is that-?" Prentiss couldn't finish her sentence as silence filled the room.

"What on earth is going on here?" Rossi exclaimed, his eyebrows narrowing in anger.

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
16.44

David McCallister strode into the police department with long, confident steps. As always, he was talking on his phone, but he seemed rather at ease. He caught Hotch in the corner of his eye and gesture to him that he would be right there. McCallister hung up, halted next to the relatively young Chief Dawson. So far, the head of the department had been forthcoming and tried to help, but when it wasn't necessary, he wouldn't be around. Garcia quickly found out that his son was trained by Abby and Lewis, her SCU colleague. Apart from that, his father had known Abby and always spoke very highly of her. His father would turn in his grave if he found out that Dawson would be actually helping to put Abby Scott away. Both men talked to each other for a while before McCallister briefly patted the man on his back and he headed towards the conference room.

The team had been waiting for him. Prentiss and Morgan stood in front of the evidence boards. The woman had crossed her arms. Rossi had found his seat in the corner again, Reid found the opposite corner near the door and was busy writing something down. Garcia was nervously biting down her nails until JJ, sitting next to her, shot her a look. Hotch opened the door the second McCallister approached it and the man warily entered, his eyes going over their faces, his mind working at top speed.

"I'm sorry, but agent Bronckovic is temporarily unavailable." McCallister said without saying hello's.

"What does that mean?" Agent Rossi asked him, the tone of his voice clearly letting on that he didn't believe the other man's words.

"It means I have absolutely no idea where he is." Mac answered honestly. He looked around the room and caught on. "Is everything alright?" He asked carefully.

"We were hoping you could explain a couple of things for us." Hotch replied coolly.

"Look, if this is about Bronckovic, I honestly have no idea where he is. I have uni's looking for him, but if he doesn't want to be found.." He didn't finish his sentence. Probably, because by the look on Hotch' face, he realised it wasn't about Miles.

"There's a gap in Abby's military file. It states that she went to West Point and Fort Lewis, but she was never there." Hotch said.

"Where was she?"

"We were hoping you could tell us."

Mac opened and closed his hands while he shrugged. _'I have no idea'_.

Hotch closed the distance and stood next to him when he opened the case file, grabbed the picture and gave it to McCallister. At first, he just looked at it. But then he took the picture from Hotch and he briefly looked at Garcia. "Abby already said you were good."

Garcia smiled weakly. "Thank you, sir."

McCallister sighed and sat down. The team did the same. Mac shrugged again.

"It's classified, I can't tell you much."

"What can you tell us?" Hotch asked him.

"Why is this relevant?"

"Profiling is what we do."

When McCallister didn't reply, he could only look at Hotch, Rossi explained. "It's not looking too good for her. We need the last pieces of the puzzle, but Abby's not helping; half her file is locked, as are half of her records and her laptop and home computer are protected."

"Oh, damn it Frankie." McCallister ran his hands over his face and stood up to slowly pace around the room. "For some reason, Abby shut herself down completely. I don't know why, but I knew the moment after I talked to her. I figured because she could have, possibly, actually murdered Louisa. Her file was locked shortly after she was transferred to the BAU. I don't know why and I don't know who. Abby said she didn't know either, but I think we both know that whoever did that, is probably MIA at the moment... The protection on her laptop and computer, I get. Especially when you have a technical analyst like that one close around."

"I would never invade her privacy like that." Garcia commented softly.

"She felt threatened. Abby's always been a little paranoid when it comes down to her file."

"What can you tell us about her Army-time?" Hotch tapped the photo and demanded McCallister's fully attention.

On the photo stood Abby, Miles and McCallister, all dressed in Army uniform, their arms over each other's shoulders, smiling into the camera. Abby was carrying a sniper rifle around her right shoulder. The picture was taken somewhere in the desert and Hotch figured it was taken in Iraq, where Abby did her last tour. She was wearing the same scarf she wore when she first stepped into the BAU.

"Abby was dividing her time. She was part of a small group that was assigned to track high risk targets. I was their CO, Miles was one of the two computer technicians we had. Abby, together with two other men, was one of the long distance marksmen."

"She was a sniper." Rossi repeated.

"Yes. And a damned good one too."

"Why is this classified?" Morgan wanted to know.

"Because it wouldn't look good if the government was assigning people to kill other people. Plus, it wasn't the first time this particular group had done such like assignments."

"Africa." Hotch said.

Mac nodded. "Among other places. Africa wasn't exactly the same. We actually tried to hunt down those people. Abby joined last after her marksmanship was noticed. She could shoot the wings of a particular fly in a room full of flies. Without hitting anything else. Four weeks of intensive training later and she's a sniper, being able to hide in trees, lay still in mud with insects crawling over your back. I've never seen marksmanship like that before. Miles was picked up shortly into his training; they wanted him as a computer expert. He can do things to a computer I'm sure even you're technical analyst can't. They were both exceptional. Two of the best I served with."

"You said that Abby was dividing her time? She was doing something else as well?" Hotch asked the tall, exhausted man, recalling the words he had spoken earlier.

McCallister nodded again and sat down. "She has dual citizenship. The Brits were there too, but I don't know what she was doing for them. She never talked about it."

"Do you have any idea what I could be?" Rossi pressed.

"No. Obviously highly classified." McCallister replied monotone and sent Rossi a look. _ I don't know means I don't know_.

"Why didn't you tell us before?" Hotch picked up the picture and looked at their smiling faces.

"I didn't see the relevance, agent Hotchner. But mostly, it's classified information. I could be court-martialled _and _prosecuted if people find out I talked." Mac replied sharply. "And I trust you handle this information well." He added.

"Of course." Hotch nodded as a comforting gesture.

"Did Abby ever talk about her time after you returned to the States?" Morgan wondered, his voice soft and smooth.

"Not much. None of us did. But I know Miles and Abby have always been inseparable. It's possible they talk to each other."

"What about agent Bronckovic?" Hotch tried to keep his voice lightly and easy, but by trying to do so, Mac picked up the vibe. "As I said, he went off the grid. He was at the SCU this morning, working on a minor case or something. He got a call from you guys, requesting his presence. He got up, he left and half an hour later I learn that he went AWOL."

"You let him back on the job? He hasn't even buried his fiancé yet." Rossi commented judgmentally.

"Right now, I let him do whatever he wants. He lost his fiancé and possibly his best friend in one day. What would you do? I prefer it if he's at the SCU instead of at home, drinking himself stupid. We take care of our own, agent." There was more to that last sentence than anyone in that room could understand at that moment. McCallister's phone rang - he asked if they wanted to know anything else and when Hotch shook his head, he left the room.

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
16.25

After a short break, some coffee, something to eat, some fresh air and cooled heads, Hotch pressed that they would continue on the profile. He didn't like it, but despite the fact he was telling his team that they needed to do this, he knew there was something he was looking for. Hotch just didn't know _what_.

"IQ of 181, excellent declarative and procedural memory, high logical intelligence. She's, as said, strict, disciplined, almost stark and spartan. She has good social skills but doesn't connect with people easily and when she does, she doesn't give up much. She's secluded, mysterious, possible bonding and trust issues-" Morgan raised his eyebrows as he was interrupted.

"Possible? Say definitely." The dark-haired agent interjected satirically, earning a glare from her supervisor.

"Possible hints of paranoia. She's also driven, strongly opinionated and emotionally detached. Or she just compartmentalises fast." With his last comment, he shortly glanced at Prentiss. "She's strong willed, stubborn and reckless. She doesn't mind putting her life in the line of fire."

"So far, Abby's only shown us 4 of the basic emotions; amusement, anger, pride in achievement and satisfaction. That says a lot." Rossi observed.

"Are you trying to make her look like a sociopath or something now, Rossi?" Reid asked, his tone of voice light but there was a trace of warning.

"No. But I must admit, now that you mention it, she does possess some of the features." Rossi replied and by the way he spoke, the team rapidly picked up the fact that he didn't like the way Reid was talking to him. "Failure to conform to social norms - deception as in repeatedly lying, use of aliases or conning others for personal profit or pleasure - reckless disregard for safety of self or others and lack of remorse as indicated by being indifferent to or rationalizing having hurt, mistreated or stolen from another. She never apologizes or gives her condolences to the families or victims. Indifferent is the word I would use whenever she's standing there, hovered over a dead body."

"So now she's a sociopath. Tomorrow she'll be a psychopath and after that a serial killer." Reid snapped. He threw his notebook on the table and stood up from his chair.

"Reid.." Morgan warned him with a soft voice.

"Morgan, let him speak. If he has something to say he should say it." Prentiss replied dully.

"Yeah, I've got something to say. Does anyone in this room even believe in her innocence?" Reid looked around the room. Garcia raised her hand, but Morgan and JJ avoided his eye contact and Hotch was staring him down. Once Reid locked eyes with his supervisor, he shrugged and raised his hands in defeat. "Then what are we even doing? If no one believes her, wrap it up and move on to the next case. Why are you even here? You obviously don't care at all."

"Reid, that's not fair." Prentiss shot back at him.

"Not fair? I'll tell you what's not fair-"

"Her prints were found inside the car!" Prentiss raised her voice as she cut him off. "There is blood under Louisa's fingernail that matches Abby's. They found her hair inside one of the bags. She has motive and no alibi. What do you expect from us, Reid? The profile clearly states; 30 to 40, disciplined, controlled, organized, a loner, highly intelligent. Military background. Strict and calculated, mentally cold and emotionally detached. I know you and Abby are close friends, but even you have got to admit the profile is an exact description of Abby. Not to mention the things she has lied-"

"She lied to me too!" Reid suddenly shouted. "She lied to me too." He repeated his words again, only slower this time. "She lied to me in the face while she promised me she would never lie to me. And for some mysterious reason, despite the fact that she has lied, I still believe her. Do you want to know why?" Reid glanced around the room again.

"No." Rossi answered. It was a rhetorical question, he understood and Rossi thought he understood Reid's reasons, but he stopped him nonetheless. "Reid. Prentiss is right. Everything is pointing at Abby. And she's not denying it either. Why do you think that is?"

The young man didn't reply and could only stare at the older agent.

"I think because she's tired of it. She's tired of everything. She doesn't want to fight anymore."

Silence was softly embraced into the room as the team cooled down. Reid was looking at Hotch, but he didn't return his look. Garcia had tears in her eyes, but when Morgan wanted to comfort her, she waved his hand away.

"You know what? Fine. Forget it. But while you're in here just sitting around telling yourself that she did it but not making an actual decision, I'll be somewhere else finding the proof that she didn't do it." Reid grabbed some files and headed for the door. Instead of marching out, he spun around on his heels, his eyes furious. "And another thing. Bonding and trust issues? I'd say 'perfectly logical'." With that, Reid stomped out of the room, closing the door behind him with a loud slam.

* * *

_"Don't forget that I cannot see myself, that my role is limited to being the one who looks in the mirror."_

Jacques Rigaut.


	6. Unseen hands (shaping people)

"_Our thoughts are unseen hands shaping the people we meet. Whatever we truly think them to be, that's what they'll become for us."  
_Richard Cowper_  
_

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
17.00

_Time since arrest: 21 hours. Time left: 27 hours. _

Hotch opened and closed the door without a word. Solemnly, he sat down behind the stainless table, placed a paper cup with hot tea in front of her and opened the file which he put down in the middle of the table so that she could see the smiling face that was looking at her. When Hotch finally looked up at Abby Scott, she was waiting for him – waiting for a hint that told her what he was expecting from her. Hotch briefly wondered when she had suddenly become so complied, so eager to please to his believes. Then again, he figured she always had. That was, perhaps, the most tragic part of the story. He slowly begun to realise that everything she had done was her way of trying to please him in every way she could. Surely, she worked hard and lot and she loved doing so, but a part of her wanted to achieve, strive to be better than anyone else on his team, just to please him.

As they sat there, seconds passing them by like strangers, neither of them said anything. Her expression was clean and clear, her facial muscles relaxed and carefree. But when he looked into her indescribable grey-green eyes, peered past those heavy defences that she had built and nourished over the years, he could see it. She wasn't just expecting something from him, she was awaiting something.

"Louisa Delgado." He said, finally. He curved his neck when he noticed the anxiousness go out in her eyes like a tiny light bulb. Her eyes flashed to the picture on the table, but she didn't speak. "She died of blood loss. Presumably after her head was cut off. Coroner says she was alive, but dead when the rest of her body was dismembered."

"Yes." Abby finally said.

Hotch was unsure of what she meant; was she merely agreeing to the facts or admitting those facts? "Why did you do it?" He therefore asked, curiosity hidden in his frown as an old friend.

She didn't answer. She just closed her eyes momentarily and then looked away as she leant back in her chair. Reid was right; she was tired.

"Why aren't you talking to us?"

"What's the point Hotch?" She questioned.

Hotch grabbed another photo and placed it next to the other. "You fit the profile."

"I didn't know there were profiles on crazy British FBI agents."

"Highly intelligent. Between the ages of 30 to 40. Withdrawn. Emotionally detached. Cold. Calculated. Lack deep personal attachment. Cold emotionally. Lives extremely excluded. Narcissistic traits. Thinks he or she is smarter than anyone else. Dominant. Charming. Wants to set the situation to his or her own hands. Feels superior."

"You think I'm a narcissist?"

This time is was Hotch' turn not to reply.

"You haven't decided, have you?" Then she chuckled. "To be guilty, or not to be. That's the question."

Again, the only response was silence. Abby picked up on the slight activity in his forehead. "You said 'he or she'. You haven't decided whether or not your Unsub is male or female. Seeing that the murder was quite brutal and bloody, first reaction is always 'male'. But that would mean that I didn't do it and you are not sure whether or not I have done it or not."

"Louisa Delgado was a short, skinny woman. A woman could have easily overpowered her, especially since we're looking for someone with either a military or law enforcement background - it evens the odds."

"Sounds like you've nearly captured your killer, agent Hotchner." Abby said, clearly mocking him. She folded her hands on her stomach and looked at him amused.

"I'm sorry."

"So am I, agent Hotchner, so am I."

Hotch stood up, took the photographs with him again and headed for the door.

"And I am the smartest in the room." She said to his back.

Hotch halted, and then left.

Rossi and Morgan were waiting for their leader in the observation room behind the two-way mirror. Both men looked at Hotch questioningly.

"What was that about?" Rossi asked.

Hotch sighed, pocketed his hands and looked at his agent on the other side of the glass. "Morgan, I want you to take over."

"Okay." The dark man replied wary.

"There's no point in going back in there for me. She has completely shut me out."

Rossi made a small noise. "She knows you're a threat." He said to no one in particular, but Hotch felt the words inside his chest. He should have been the one to be able to get to her, or at least that's how he felt. Ever since he saw her sitting in that interview room, with the light on her face and the possibility to look at her in a new angle every time he stood there in the observation room, he had felt something gnawing at him. Something deep inside of him had awoken but he couldn't put his finger on it. Something told him to remember something, but he didn't know what it was. His conscious was telling him to see something, but he couldn't see it.

"I want her phone records. Both at home, the office and her cell." Hotch demanded sternly and he looked at Morgan. "We're missing something." Morgan nodded and headed towards the door. "And I want our guys on Bronckovic. Find him."

Morgan frowned. "You don't trust McCallister?"

"I do." The agent replied. "But I also trust that he'll keep him away from us for as long as he can, so Miles can come up with a story. Like he said, they take care of their own. If he surfaces, I want to be the first to talk to him, I want to know what's going on." The dark agent nodded and left the room in silence.

"Perhaps Reid is right, Aaron." Rossi carefully suggested once Morgan was out of sight.

The other man looked at him. "What do you mean?"

Rossi sighed and shrugged slightly. "Look at us. Look at _her. _She's sitting in an interview room, not being able to do anything and yet she is ripping this team apart. Reid is condemning himself to prove her innocence. Morgan is somewhere in his shell and the rest is walking around on their toes, terrified of setting someone off. This isn't working." Hotch looked at his colleague with a saddened expression on his face. When he looked back at Abby, on the other side of the glass, Rossi continued. "What Reid said was true. We're just walking around aimlessly, too afraid to make a decision. Guilty or not. Murderer, set-up or just bad luck. If we can't make that decision then we're not the right people for this case."

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
17.31

Rossi's words kept echoing in his head. He knew both Rossi and Reid were right. He just didn't want to admit it. He didn't want to admit a lot of other things. Like he didn't want to see a lot of other things and he hadn't wanted to make a decision. He had hoped it would blow over, and now look where they ended up. Hotch was a man that had given up the search for reason a long time ago. Due to his work, he had learnt that a lot happened without a reason. Sometimes things just happened, and quite often, there was nothing you could do. Yet deep down, Hotch knew he could have prevented this. He knew he shouldn't have brought Scott to Atlanta. Just like he knew that she shouldn't have been with the team after what happened in Chicago.

Hotch had given himself a deadline as he walked into the hospital. He would check up on Scott and then drop the bomb. He wanted the truth and if she would lie to him, he would have to fire her from the BAU. He knew that was the only option because, despite the fact that he accepted his team had secrets, his team would not lie to each other or to him. If they did then it would be the last thing they did as part of the BAU. This job was hard enough as it was. They faced horror and blood and murder and the worst of people every day. They didn't need mistrust the person having their backs. They shouldn't need to worry that the little world they had created to be safe, was in fact just as miserable as the outside world.

But he couldn't do it. She hadn't known. And he had watched her face and the muscles, her eyes trying to stay concealed behind their shields but he had seen the hurt on her face. Rossi had been right about the fact that they hadn't seen a lot of different emotions from her. But she had shown Hotch sadness. And that is when he started to doubt.

He placed a hand on the skinny shoulders, feeling the bones underneath them and the muscles tense instantly. Reid, his favourite team member, the one he practically trained, looked up at him with a mixture of fear and expectation. Why had Hotch forgotten that the young man was still looking up to him?

Hotch sat down next to the genius and stared into his coffee cup. "Do you remember the day we left for Salt Lake City? The Donaldson case?"

"Yeah."

"Can you remember that morning?"

"Hotch-"

He was sure Reid was going to explain once again, what a brilliant memory the man held, so he raised his hand. "Abby received an envelope that day."

"She did?" Reid looked at Hotch questioningly. The older man let his memory recall that particular morning and do the math himself. "She did. There was a sudden shift in her behaviour. Like she had just seen a ghost." His face lit up. _He was right. There was _something_ going on._

Before Reid could get too overly excited, Hotch pushed him back with both feet on the ground. "There are no sides. We all are entitled to our own believes – just like no one is judging you for the fact that you are defending her with everything you have. Either we do this, as a team, or we can't do this at all."

"I understand Hotch." Reid mumbled apologetic. "I'm sorry."

"Reid." He talked sternly and he looked Reid. "No more apologies."

Reid nodded, grabbed his things and followed Hotch back into the conference room.

No more apologies.

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
17.54

He remembered the first time that he saw her so vividly in his mind. Confident and strong footsteps, followed by an intimidating and fierce appearance and eyes that took in details and were casually throw upon the name tags on their desks. She wore black trousers, no dress pants, and a light grey blouse, with black and elegant Nikes. She was carrying a rather large, black backpack and she had tucked her black and white Iraqi scarf through one of the sternum straps. He kept looking at her, taking in her delicate face and her features, watching her until she approached him. He looked away again, but when she addressed him and their eyes met, he could feel it. Mutual attraction. There was a spark that had ignited once their eyes locked and it was from that moment on, that she crawled under his skin and nestled herself somewhere in his chest.

The first time that they kissed was a movie he could play in his head. Surely, it was more romantic in his head than the actual event, but who could blame him? After all, just a week before she was sent flying through the air and fell one story down and whilst the team was out in Salt Lake to find six missing boys, she was stuck at Quantico with Garcia. Not to mention that when Morgan arrived at her home – he was still unsure of his intentions – she had been slightly drunk. Still, he remembered those eyes; those bright grey-green eyes that would not release its grip on him. She had walked around the counter and he found himself unable to resist when she leant in closer. The moment their lips touched and he invaded her mouth with his tongue, he realised that this was the moment had been waiting for, for such a long time. It felt complete and just so right.

How they ended up here – Abby again cuffed to the grey, silver-y table and Morgan standing on the other side of the glass – was something he still could not comprehend.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Hotch asked from behind.

"Yeah. Why not?" Morgan replied over his shoulder, not taking his eyes of the woman he once adored.

"Morgan." Hotch stepped forward to stand next to him. The rest of the team marched back into the conference room when JJ arrived with something that could be a breakthrough. Rossi would take point in the conference room, while Morgan would take the lead in the interview room. "She was your partner. She's still our colleague. It would be strange if you see her as any other suspect."

"I'll be fine." Morgan wanted to head to the door, but Hotch' voice stopped him.

"I'm going to ask you one more time, Morgan. Are you sure you can, and want, to do this?"

The tall, dark man turned around to face his supervisor. "Are you trying to say something to me Hotch? Because if you are, just spit it out. I'm tired of these games, I don't need you sending me cryptic messages as well."

"I just want to know if you're up to it." Hotch replied. But then he closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them again, he looked at Morgan with a kind and somewhat understanding expression on his tired face. "Morgan, I know about you two."

Morgan broke eye contact, sighed and threw his head back. He pursed his lips and stared at the wall for a couple of brief moments. "Hotch, that's over. We ended it."

He could tell that he was being honest. He could see it in his eyes once they finally found his again. "You know the FBI has that protocol for a reason. Especially with the BAU."

"Hotch, it's over. I swear."

The BAU unit chief nodded, almost invisible, but it was enough for Morgan. Then he flashed him a small smile that once again told Morgan he understood. Hotch nodded again, this time to himself and both men looked out the window to witness the woman they were talking about eating herself up inside. "Do you think I shouldn't have brought her here?" He suddenly asked.

Morgan raised his eyebrows in surprise. He wondered for a moment, how Hotch could doubt himself. "This is not your fault Hotch."

"I know. It's just, with the way she's been acting for the past weeks, I'm just wondering if I made the right decision by bringing her with us."

"I think she would be highly offended if you didn't." Morgan shortly put his hand on Hotch' shoulder before turning and opening the door.

"Morgan-"

"Hotch. I'll be fine." Morgan already answered his boss' question. He didn't get any sort of reply so he exited the room and got ready for a catfight.

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
18.00

_Time since arrest: 22 hours. Time left: 26 hours. _

Abby snorted when she noticed Morgan entering the room. She changed her attitude to downright arrogant while Morgan approached the table and put down a case file while Abby licked her lips and cocked her head to the right. He avoided eye contact and only fed Abby's angry and arrogant state of mind. But when he moved to her, grabbing a set of keys from his pocket and uncuffed her, she lost the attitude and her facial muscles relaxed, unsure of his intentions, her eyes darting over his features hoping that she would catch a hit that would tell her what he was doing. Morgan sat down, still not looking at her, and rested his hands on the table. When he finally did look up, he could tell that he had already drawn her out just by those few simple actions. Or, perhaps, he just had that effect on her.

"I'm going to be honest with you Abby. There are people here that believe you did this." Whilst he spoke, he grabbed a photo of the original crime scene. Then he placed a second one, of the primary crime scene, next to it. Abby waited and kept observing the man in front of her.

"I'm also going to be honest with you when I tell you that I don't know if you did this. But I also don't know that you didn't do this."

"So what are you going to do about that?" Abby asked him.

Hotch, from behind the two-way mirror, lowered the hand he had brought up to his lips. Just like Morgan, he understood that if they could keep this up, they would draw her out in the open and one, well-placed blow would be enough to break her defences.

Morgan grabbed another photo from his case file, placed it on top of the others, right in front of her and tapped a couple of times on it with his finger. It was a picture of the coroner; Louisa Delgado's body had been reconstructed to make sure they had all parts. It was still clear and visible that she had been dismembered into pieces by the light grey space between the parts, coming from the table on which they rested.

"Where's the head, Abby?"

Finally, the only advantage they had, namely the fact that Abby was cut off from any source of information, paid off. She had clearly not known and once Morgan asked her, both agents could see her facial muscles tense instantly, the little colour she still held in her face vaporized and her eyes grew stark and wide. Hotch could practically see the chills run down her back and the goose bumps appear in her neck. She looked away, tried to conceal it, but both Morgan and Hotch had seen it. _You've got her_.

"It's not her." Hotch said out loud, to himself. He was about to rush towards the team when Reid opened the door roughly.

"It's not Abby." He spurted out.

"What did you find?" Hotch asked, without telling the young genius that he too had just come to that conclusion. The more supporting theories, the better.

"In Chicago, after she fainted at the police station." Reid paused and seemed to mentally challenge himself. He was torn between defending his friend and finding out the truth. "I visited her at the hospital. When I arrived, she got a call and she answered it, thinking it was you."

"I never called her at the hospital."

"I know. She told whoever called 'I'll be glad when you're dead, buried and rotting away in a cheap coffin you son of a bitch. Leave me the hell alone or I'll hunt your ass and kill you myself' and then she hung up. When I asked her about her, she said it was her ex-husband."

"You think her ex-husband did this?" Hotch sounded surprised. Not because the theory was wrong, but Abby married?

"No. Hotch." He waited again. As he looked down, he swallowed. Hotch let him, he didn't push him. Abby had been his friend and whatever Reid found out, it felt like a betrayal to him. "Hotch." Reid's eyes were casted upwards again, finding his supervisor's. "There is no record of her ever being married."

Hotch stared at his younger colleague as realisation suddenly set in. "When Morgan confronted her about the fact that Delgado's head is still missing, Abby responded shocked. She had no idea."

"She didn't do it." Reid said, almost pleading. When his boss didn't confirm his believes, he continued. "Hotch, you and I both know Abby does not fill the complete profile. She's not a narcissist, because if she was, she would have told us about her work in Africa and Afghanistan. She would have loved portraying herself as some sort of war hero. In fact, she only thing she really told us about her Army days is the fact that she accidentally shot herself in the foot and is now missing a toe."

"So she's being set up? Why?" Hotch replied questioningly.

"I don't know." Reid admitted. "But she told me she has an ex-husband. She doesn't. Frankie promised me she would never lie to me. She has. She is protecting us from.. _Something_."

"Reid-" Hotch started but was quickly caught off.

"That means that whatever she is hiding, she feels she can't tell anyone."

Hotch' head snapped towards the interview room and he quickly grabbed his phone.

"What are you doing?" Reid asked.

"Calling Morgan. He needs to go easy and gently. She needs to know she can trust us."

"Abby." Morgan called out her name, his voice soft and gentle after he hung up the phone. Abby pursed her lips and remained silent. "Abs." There it was again_. 'Abs'. Personal._ "Talk to me."

"There is nothing to say. _Derek_."

"The Unsub murders your best friends' fiancé in your house and plants the body parts in the car you're driving." Morgan said to her. "And once he's done with that, he makes a phone call to the police with your taped voice and says he saw you kill a woman. He knew from where you would be leaving and which car you would be driving."

Abby looked at her old partner but was unsure what to tell him, so instead she shrugged.

"What does that sound like to you?"

"One crazy asshole?" Abby replied sarcastically.

"That sounds to me like a set-up, Abby. Someone has been watching you. Someone is holding a grudge against you deep enough to go through all this trouble." He corrected her. "How long have you known?"

"Oh, I don't know Morgan, I mean it's been thousands of years since we all knew the earth is round."

"Well, whilst you're pondering over your next sarcastic reply, let me remind you that your best friend's fiancé was murdered by a guy that has been stalking you and yet you are still the prime suspect and the only people who are able to change that, is us." His voice had been penetrating and strong, but soft and smooth at the same time. He wasn't trying to push her into a corner. He was luring her out.

When Morgan closed the door of the observation room, he halted next to his supervisor. "Why is she doing this? Why is she still keeping this up?" Hotch asked himself.

Morgan looked at him. "I know why I would."

Hotch' eyes slowly made contact with Morgan's, somehow those memories of Chicago still fresh and stinging. "She's hiding something. And it's clearly not the fact that she has a stalker."

"So there is something else she doesn't want us to find out."

"It has to do something with her past. There are too many holes and lies to be a coincidence." Morgan said.

"Okay. If we reverse profile, it should lead us to whoever is stalking Abby. In the process, we should find out what the hell it is that she's so afraid of us finding out." Hotch told Morgan determined.

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
21.00

_Time since arrest: 25 hours. Time left: 23 hours._

"Who is this guy Abby?"

Morgan sat opposite of Abby in the room. His voice was gentle and soothing; she could have fallen for it. His entire body language was relaxed, he causally glanced at her every now and then, and yet Abby Scott did not respond to his interrogation tactics. She sniffed and rubbed her face.

"Isn't that your job now, to figure that out? Agent Morgan?" She retorted; her voice had lost all fire. Innocent bystanders might dare to suggest that she was giving up – surrendering – but both Morgan and Hotch and Reid, watching from behind the two-way mirror, knew that that was probably not the case. Abby Scott didn't surrender. Abby Scott didn't yield.

"Yeah, well-" Morgan sighed, putting the picture back on the table and rested his weight on his elbows as he leant in a bit closer "- it would sure help if you cooperated, Abby. I don't even know why you're doing this."

"I'm not doing anything."

"Cleary."

Morgan had interrupted her and he could see her biting down her tongue. She was avoiding eye contact. "I've told you my story. You know what happened. I can't change the situation, you can - I'm sitting here in a frigging interrogation room."

"You _can_ change the situation, Abby. Tell us about this guy."

"Don't-" Abby raised her voice, closed her eyes and put her hands in the air, "don't try your negotiation, interrogation, psycho-babble on me, Morgan. I know how that dance goes."

Morgan smiled shortly. "I'm not interrogating you, Abby. I'm just asking you why you won't tell us about this guy. Or about your past."

He had seen it coming. She had been agitated ever since Morgan informed her of the fact that Louisa's head was missing. Hence he didn't respond frightened when she slammed her fists into the table, jumped up and started pacing around the room.

"My past has nothing to do with this!"

Morgan, studiously observing, cocked his head to the side. "Your past has everything to do with it, Abby. You know that, victimology is based on both the past and the present."

"Victimology?!" Now she made eye contact. "Victimology?! You don't need me for victimology, you've got a dead body in the morgue! Profile her! Stop profiling me! _I _am not the answer!"

"Why? Why are you so scared of us profiling you, Abby?" Morgan replied.

It was Abby's turn to chuckle. "Seriously? Because it's not like you constantly profile each other, but because there is this unwritten rule, you don't talk about it. But it doesn't mean it doesn't happen. I don't need, you people, up in my business. It's called _my_ business for a reason. Besides, why do you even care?!"

"I hope that's a rhetorical question, Abby."

"Will you please stop! Stop using my name in every bloody sentence!" She started yelling again. The pacing had reduced down to a bit of turning and shuffling around near the corner.

"Does that bother you?"

"Yes! Obviously! Fuck." She slid down the wall, rested her head in her hands and covered her face. When she dropped her hands again, she looked up at the man she knew could do it. He could see it all over her face. Morgan was getting to her with everything she did and she was so busy fighting him off that she was unable to control her body language.

"What do you want from me, Morgan? You've got it all figured out. Congratulations. Bake a cake and throw a party. Just-… Just leave me the hell alone."

Morgan stood up, briefly laying his eyes on the glass window before approaching his partner. Or should it be ex-partner? He squatted down in front of her and held up the photo. "Two thousand-and-two. Your Army days. What did you do? Why is there a gap in your file?"

Abby sighed and covered her face again.

"Why won't you talk to us?"

"Seriously?!"

"Talk to me." Morgan silently begged.

"Or, y'know, not."

Morgan took in a deep breath and let it out again. He had nearly placed his hand on Abby's arm, but her response stopped him. He thought he had her. He was wrong. It didn't matter, they would continue this game until she gave up. Or, until they ran out of time; then they would have to charge her, or let her go. Morgan wasn't too happy about either two options. He couldn't wrap his brain around the fact that she was willing to go down like this. Perhaps, he was in fact more puzzled by her attitude, that she didn't want to talk to them. Not even him.

"Just so you know, Abby," He paused after intentionally adding her name, secretly smiling as he witnessed her role her eyes, "we're going to keep playing this game until you tell me all about it."

"No you're not." She said back to him. He looked at her and she did the same at the exact moment.

"You've got about twenty-two hours left. And after that it's either 'Hello jail' or 'Goodbye fuckers'."

She had been right. Unfortunately, Abby didn't seem to care which option it was going to be. But as Hotch and Reid were watching from behind the one-way mirror, they both knew that until they had evidence that contradicted the previous evidence, Abby was signing herself up for a one-way ticket to jail.

* * *

"_There's a long, long trail a-winding into the land of my dreams, where the nightingales are singing and a white moon beams. There's a long, long night of waiting until my dreams all come true; till the day when I'll be going down that long, long trail with you."  
_Stoddard King_  
_


	7. Fear him

"_Our thoughts are unseen hands shaping the people we meet. Whatever we truly think them to be, that's what they'll become for us."  
_Richard Cowper_  
_

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
18.18

Morgan had exited the interview room and stepped into the observation room. In both rooms, the air was cool against his skin, a soft, imagined wind was blown into his neck, over his shoulders and down his back. For some strange reason it reminded him of Abby. Their encounters. There was always a cool air in Abby's house. It wasn't until now that he remembered and pondered over it. For a moment, he feared Abby kept a large, cooled room in her basement where she would keep the heads. In his mind, he could see her, so vividly, that he wondered if it _was_ real.

_He could barely hear her breathe. He was lying on his side, his bare back towards her. He felt the heat from her body radiate against his skin and small strokes of coldness caressed his torso as if the air was a painter and he the canvas. The sheets smoothly slid past his body and he heard her step out of the bed. The flooring underneath her feet cracked slightly and she left the bedroom. In the hallway, he could hear a heavy door open and he was suddenly overwhelmed by a frigid touch –_

No. Abby Scott didn't even have a basement. His mind was playing games with him. But then – why did he remember the coolness? And why did he remember that faint, buzzing sound?

"She's not going to talk about her Army time." Hotchner said from his right. Both men had pocketed their hands.

"What do you suggest?"

"Tell her what we know about it. That we talked to Mac. It might open her up knowing her old CO told us."

"Indicate a bond of trust was created." Morgan nodded.

"And if that fails, force it out of her."

Morgan looked at his boss.

Hotch explained his words. "She needs to know that we know more than we're letting on. That will upset her enough to start talking. Or at least worry her about what else we might know. And it lets her know that she can't play these games on us. I'm done being fooled around."

"Any luck on the number called from the hospital?" Morgan asked.

"Unknown. Whoever called knew how to stay hidden."

"Hotch.." Morgan started. The tall, dark haired man next to him nodded as if cutting him off. His gloomy eyes found Morgan's as Hotch turned his head. The grim on his face was indescribable.

"I know. There's more at play here. A lot more than we know so far." He pointed at Abby. "We need to let her think that we know the game and that she's the pawn being moved around."

Solemnly, Morgan nodded, sighing as he did.

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
18.27

Morgan was waiting for the machine to fill the paper cup. Steam rose from within the paper's boundaries and he quietly observed. He didn't understand how someone could have such a past and never mentioned anything. They were profilers, the best of the best, and they never picked up on anything. Sure, they knew she served. They knew she handled guns; probably even better than anyone else on the team. But it bugged him how easily she had fooled them and he feared that there may be a hell of a lot more hidden behind the curtains that defined Abby Franklin Scott.

"Hey, you okay?" Prentiss appeared next to him with a small smile around her lips.

He looked at her. "I'm fine. You?"

Prentiss clearly did expect that retort and she bit her tongue before sucking in some air. She looked away and down, before tilting her head to the side and finding his stark face again. Clearly, he wasn't in the mood for a conversation, but Prentiss pressed on anyway. "Morgan, she wasn't my partner."

"And she obviously wasn't mine either." He replied shortly before grabbing both cups and heading towards interview room one.

He swiftly opened and closed the door and approached the table. Abby was resting her head in her hands, her eyes closed. She didn't even need to look up to know who was entering. He was sure she could smell it. Morgan sat down in front of her and studiously watched her lower her hands, look at the tea he brought and wrap her hands around it.

"I really wished you would eat something."

"I really wished I could get a smoke." Abby replied without looking at him. Yet her eyes finally glanced up when she heard Morgan put something on the table. Abby smiled, leant back and interlaced her eyes with Morgan's. "This is really old school."

"You've been whining about your smokes ever since you got in here. I got tired of it." Morgan said casually. By the way she looked at him and how her lips formed a crooked smile, he knew she didn't believe him.

"What do you want?" She asked.

"We talked to Mac."

"You _talked_ to Mac?"

"He told us."

"He told you." She repeated, but this time without any confidence in her voice. She was starting to understand where the conversation was going. For a second, Morgan had the time to think that Hotch could have been right - if they took the reassurance of holding the game plan away from her, they might be able to crack her open and figure this thing out. Weighing his options, Morgan took a sip from his coffee before locking his eyes with Abby's and staring at her.

Abby, in her turn, instantly knew enough. "You forced him to tell you. He could do some serious time if this leaks out." Abby told him sternly, casting her fierce eyes at the mirror.

"It won't."

She looked back at Morgan. "You haven't answered my question."

"You've never answered any of mine either."

"You have the bargaining chip now." She nodded with her head towards the pack of cigarettes. "Dawson will flip if you let me smoke in his interrogation room."

"I think I can handle Dawson."

"Don't underestimate him, Morgan." Abby replied playfully.

"What did you do?"

Abby grabbed the pack, got a cigarette, lit it and inhaled the smoke. As she blew out the smoke, she smiled and looked at him. "Have you figured it out yet?" She suddenly asked the mirror.

"Abby!" Morgan's voice was strong as he demanded her attention.

"I guess not now that you've thrown Morgan in front of the bus." She almost manically said to the mirror.

Morgan sighed and grabbed the photo from his case file. Abby barely even glanced at it.

"You think you've clever, don't you? Hoping he would call upon my conscience, the guilt. I wouldn't want to lie to my partner, would I?" She questioned the mirror again. No one was talking back.

"We know what you did in Africa." Morgan told her.

"I figured you were smarter than that, agent Hotchner-"

"You lied about now having your sniper certificate-"

"If you sincerely think I wouldn't want to lie to him now-"

"And lied again when you said you finally got it last month."

"I wouldn't have lied to him in the first place."

"Get up." Morgan suddenly snapped at her.

"Excuse me?"

"Get up." He repeated. When she didn't comply, Morgan jumped from his chair and pulled her up, forcefully pressed her again the wall and positioned himself behind her. "Abby Franklin Scott, you're under a-"

"I did some work for the British." She finally admitted. Her cigarette had dropped on the floor. She stepped on it to put it out. Dawson was going to kill Morgan.

"What kind of work?" Morgan asked her from behind. He was still holding on to both her arms, which he had pulled behind her back.

"The kind of work that got me ending up with a three-month internship at Cal Lightman's, the best lie detection expert in the country."

"You interrogated suspected terrorists." It was more of a statement than a question. Hence Abby didn't reply. "How long?"

"Couple of months."

"Why does your record say you were at West Point and Fort Lewis?"

"Because the government doesn't want anyone else finding out. That's why it's classified."

"Why did you lie about it earlier?"

"Look, I understand that I'm British and have an accent, but I do believe that we're both speaking English. It is _classified_." Abby said to him, obviously annoyed. Her older partner finally let go of her and pushed her down into the chair again. He pulled the chair up, roughly pushed the table aside so he could sit right in front of her.

"Why is it classified?"

Abby chuckled. "Seriously, Derek, are you stupid or what?"

"_Abby_" Morgan spat at her. "Back in your Army days, you were too young to do something of such grave importance to have your actions and missions be classified as top secret."

She bit her tongue. Rubbed the skin underneath her nose as she looked away. Morgan was too close to her to escape him and he could feel the pressure of his presence pull the words from her lips. "The Army likes disciplined and controlled emotionally detached athletic beings with high IQ's. Four weeks of sniper training and I was shooting the wings of a fly. I was a weapon, nothing more but the metal in my hands and I was a good weapon."

"Is there anyone from back then that could have a grudge against you?" He asked.

"No."

"You didn't even think." Morgan commented dryly. "Work with me here Abby - is there anyone who could have a grudge against you?"

"No."

"Someone is after you. Someone is setting you up! You have noticed something. You're just not telling us. Why?"

She lit a new cigarette after snatching the pack from the pushed aside table, whilst staring down the deity man across from her.

"You could go down as accomplice or conspiracy to murder." Morgan informed her.

"I don't know anything." She replied, cocked her head to the right , blowing out the smoke before Morgan shot up from his chair left. He left her behind with a pack of smokes and a lighter – _Dawson _is_ going to kill him._

* * *

December 25th.  
Same day.  
Fulton Police department.  
19.05

"We have a serious problem."

Garcia was feverishly typing on her laptop's keyboard, her cheek slightly coloured, her glasses slid down the bridge of her nose. Next to her own laptop stood Abby's laptop, freshly arrived from Quantico, hoped to bring some answers to the many questions there were. Reid was sitting at the end of the table, two large boxes next to him as he went through all the contents on and in Abby's desk. The pictures agents took before they emptied Abby's desk were half buried underneath a growing pile of paper.

"What is it Garcia?" Hotch asked her and sat down next to her.

"Her laptop is protected with RoboForm Pro 7. RoboForm is the absolute best. It's fresh of the 'you can't crack me anyway so why even bother' computer protection market. You can choose from several strong encryption algorithms, including AES, 3DES and Blowfish. Figuring out which kind of encryption she used will take a least days, and even if I figure it out, it's impossible to hack or crack it. This program can hold a 512 character long password. You know how long it takes to crack a password with 512 characters?"

"No." Hotch answered, but he was sure his answer wasn't heard.

"Infinity doesn't even cover it. My grandbabies' grandbabies will still not be able to hack into this baby. It's just not doable."

"Is it possible to go down names, places, important dates?" Hotch suggested.

"I could give it a try but I doubt that Abby's the kind of person that would use her dog's birthday as a password, especially not with this program."

"Well, she _is_ British." Prentiss joked.

And it was then that it struck him. It hit hard, like a thunderstorm. He knocked over what was left of his coffee as he shot up from his chair and started to gather pieces of paper.

"Hotch, are you okay?" JJ asked wary.

Okay? _Okay_?! No, it was not 'okay'. It had all been a fake, a lie, a theatre act. And she had fooled them all. Briefly, he stared at the papers in his hands before he placed them down on the table.

"Garcia, get me Abby's record." He told the girl next to him sternly.

"Okay." She replied shaky. "What is it?"

"What the hell is going on?" He muttered before the rest of the team stepped in. Their coffees were abandoned once they gathered around Hotch. Ever since this how fiasco started, something had not sit well with him. And now he finally understood.

"Abby's original personal record, the one I have here, states that she was born in England and moved to Atlanta when she was six. But last week, at the SCU, we were talking about the Christian Killer. She said that she studied that case because they shared the same hometown."

"So?" Rossi asked.

Hotch looked at him. "We profiled The Christian Killer to be born and raised in Georgia."

"So she lied about the connection between her and the Christian killer." Prentiss summed up, not understanding the importance.

Garcia made a sound and covered her mouth with her hand. "No she didn't." All faces now turned to the blonde, except for Hotch as he was scanning through the pages. "Her personal file now says that she was born in Atlanta, Georgia. Same date, February 13th, but a different city and country."

"So someone changed the place of birth in her file?" Rossi was unsure what to make of it.

But then everything fell together. "She told me she had an ex-husband and that he called her when she was in the hospital in Chicago, but there is no record of her ever being married." Reid confessed, like he had done earlier to Hotch, when he briefly looked up from the files he was reading.

"Garcia, someone was calling her a lot over the past three weeks, can you check who it is?" Morgan asked his favourite girl. His calling out however, stopped her again. He was staring at her file. "Hotch, does your file say anything about family?"

Hotch quickly sought the required information. "Father and mother are deceased, no brothers or sisters."

"She told me she had a brother."

"And her father?" JJ questioned.

"She said that he died. He was in the Army." Morgan replied.

"There's no record of a Frank Scott being in the Army." Garcia quickly informed them.

"What about her mother? This file says she was a drug addict and died when Abby was six." Hotch' voice was stressed. The worry was nagging at him. Ever so damned constant.

"Still the same. Hang on." Garcia was typing away and screens popped open before her on the screen. "There's no police rapport. Only a death certificate."

"If she died of drugs overdose, there should be a police rapport." Rossi said. He was beginning to feel more of a fool the more they uncovered of Abby Scott. What was real and what wasn't?

"There is absolutely nothing on it. I do have a death certificate on her father… But again, nothing else." Garcia replied.

"What the hell is going on here?" Prentiss exclaimed.

"I don't know but I do know that the 911 call was made from a payphone one block from the motel. There are no security cameras." The tech informed them. A beeping sound came from the laptop and Garcia rapidly worked to identify what it was.

"It's a system alert." She sounded dully.

"What does that mean?" JJ asked her.

"I was looking for the call that was made to the phone in her room at the hospital, and I found it, but it immediately got flagged. Oh this just keeps on getting messier, who in the world would place a case file in this place? Okay, I got it; the number is connected to an open SCU case and guess who the case agent is?"

"Abby." Hotch answered without even looking at her. "And the call was made from a payphone in Atlanta, near the park where Alexander Brooks was murdered."

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"Because that's the reason why Wills hid the security tape in the first place. It wasn't until we asked for it that we got it. She is looking into the phone call as well." Morgan solved the puzzle before anyone else could react. "That's probably why Abby hid the case file we're looking at. Wills has her own, official case file and Abby has a copy with her own notes."

"So Wills knew someone was paying an unhealthy interest in Abby." Prentiss concluded.

"Could this be the reason why she is being stalked?" JJ wondered out loud.

"That or twenty other reasons." Reid interrupted.

"What do you have, Reid?" Hotch asked.

"Abby's been working on several minor cases, including four old cases from Atlanta and the Donald's case. Just last week she requested satellite images of the days around the abduction days of the six still missing boys. According to her notes she is getting closer to discovering where their bodies are. Apart from that, she's currently building profiles on seven other cases, there are two other cases that requested a profile which she already finished."

"We do have on problem." Hotch suddenly informed his team. "We have no evidence that Abby has in fact not committed this crime. We need physical evidence if we want to clear her name. A profile won't stand up in court with the overwhelming amount of evidence against her."

Reid pulled out a brown envelope. He frowned as he look at the name scribbled down on it. "Perhaps this might solve a few answers." Reid handed his leader the envelope.

"What is it?" Hotchner wanted to know, but Reid shrugged.

"I don't know. I haven't opened it, it's not my name on it."

Hotch turned the envelope to discover his name on the front. In a sudden silence, Hotch opened the container and looked in it. He frowned. "It's empty."

"What the hell does that mean?" Morgan asked out loud.

"Perhaps it doesn't mean anything." Rossi replied solemnly. He looked at Hotch. "I've got a feeling that she's working towards a bigger goal."

"A finale." Prentiss said, understanding where this was going. Reid's phone rang. He didn't look at anyone when standing up and hurrying out of the room.

"She's wrapping up loose ends. She's tying up whatever kept her from quitting." Rossi explained.

"But why?" JJ questioned. She had crossed her arms before her chest, the cool chills in the room running up and down her arms. They were getting closer towards solving this case. Why weren't they humped up on adrenaline? Why weren't they excited that they were slowly closing this open, infected wound?

"Because she hasn't been who she used to be." Morgan answered. "She's been-"

"Hunting." Reid suddenly said, standing in the opening of the doorway, his phone in his hand, his brows twitched together in confusion.

"We need to know what she did in Africa and Iraq. It's possible a relative or someone close to a subject Abby was sent after, is now after Abby." Prentiss decided.

"The cells had burst." Reid suddenly said. The team stared at each other before staring at Reid.

Hotch' head snapped in his direction. "What?"

"I called the coroner and asked him to check. The blood under Louisa's fingernails and the blood from the bloody fingerprint, it wasn't fresh. It's Abby's, but it had been frozen."

The young genius walked over to the evidence board that was dedicated to his once best friend. The one he trusted, the one he relied on. He understood why she did it. She tried to keep him save. To keep _them_ save. Only she forgot about herself, as she always did. She dove in, careless of herself and that's when the trap closed, metal teeth sunk in her legs and she got stuck. Stuck to a metal table with cuffs stuck. It was admirable, he had to admit. But the way she had done it, the way she had lied to the persons she could have trusted – but choose not to – was what made her actions a form of betrayal.

"I asked Milo Bronckovic about the security system at Abby's old loft."

Hotch cut him off. "We've been trying to reach Bronkcovic for hours, he's in the wind and you had contact with him?"

"I told him that I wanted to help Abby, but that I needed his help. He kindly let me explain. I told him about a theory I had and asked him about her security system at her old loft. If Abby was holding on to that place, she wouldn't leave it unguarded - knowing Abby, there would be someone that kept that place safe." He looked around. "Her loft looked like it had been recently cleaned. Someone was looking after it and that someone would have been hired by Abby and therefore told to keep an eye out. A broken security system would have been noticed because Abby's paranoia." Reid continued. "Miles looked into it, he thinks someone tampered with it before completely shutting it down."

"Someone broke into her apartment." Hotch concluded.

"So it's official? Abby's a victim here, not a suspect?" Garcia practically begged, desperately wanting to head towards the end of this nightmare and start writing on the conclusion. The downside was that that meant Hotch was facing a decision – one he knew he had already made quite some time ago. He just didn't want to go there; he didn't want to face it yet.

"Blood found at the crime scene was frozen. The hair could also just have easily been planted there. We have an anonymous caller stating that Abby murdered Louisa, but doubts about the authenticity of the call. Then, we also have phone records to prove someone has been calling her regularly." Rossi held up Abby's phone records. "Someone has been watching her. She was set up." He determinedly decided. He sighed, rubbing his beard with one hand as he leant back in his chair.

They grew quiet as realisation set in. Yes, they had cleared her, she hadn't done it. But the price they paid for that information was much more than anyone was willing to pay. Once again, Abby Scott remained a mystery that did things her way and they couldn't comprehend.

They couldn't understand.

They had cleared her name but it didn't feel like victory. Hotch realised there was only one thing he could do; throw the towel in the ring and admit his defeat. He would take his team back to Quantico where they could recover and Abby would be left to deal with things alone. He had hoped that Abby would be smart enough to trust them; to realise that they wanted to help her. Yet she pushed them all away. Morgan, Reid, himself. Even Miles, her best friend, she pushed away and she wouldn't talk. She wouldn't confide in them. Hotch wondered if it was stupidity or pride that got in her way. Which left Hotch with no choice – he would wave his white flag and retreat with his team and Abby would be left behind.

Alone.

* * *

_December had come and like December had done so many times, it ruined everything. Come quickly, my dear. February is coming soon. Prepare yourself. Darling._

* * *

December 26th.  
Next day.  
Fulton Police department.  
00.04

She was staring at herself in the mirror. How many times had she stood on the other side of the glass, watching a suspect sweat, agitatedly biting down his nails, waiting for Abby to come in at the right moment to break him? Secretly, she hated constantly finding herself in the corner of her eyes as she circled around her suspect like a shark circling his prey. She pretended to like it. That she was arrogant like that. Nobody really knew though, that she hated continuously being faced with herself.

Abby Scott was wondering where she would find herself the next morning. Her biological clock told her it was deep into the night. They kept her in the interview room, she was wondering for what purpose – or perhaps they had forgotten about her. Perhaps they had found a lead, found out that she had called Louisa shortly before Louisa's shift was about to start. She wondered what she would tell them. Lie? Why the hell not? It wasn't like she had anything to protect. They already knew she had been lying to them about practically everything. Although, Abby would love to see Hotch' face when she told them the truth; that Louisa had been secretly and discreetly been supplying Abby of pills. The kind that tried to make you sleep and the kind that kept you awake. They failed, half the time. But she hadn't told Louisa yet. She had a dealer in Washington as well. They kept her supplied.

There were bags underneath her eyes. She had been able to hide the small detox movements from them. It was a good thing she was cool as ice – that she was able to hide the grave for her pills from them. The only thing she couldn't control was licking her lip. It had been one of her nervous ticks and a habit she fully developed after she started taking the pills. The nicotine withdrawal wasn't helping either. The extremely low temperature in the room was, on the other hand, helping and actually been quite comforting. It reminded her of home.

Her complexion was whiter than usual. Colour had drawn from her face, her eyes, once grey-green, turned cold. Smiling at her reflection, she wondered how she had gotten herself in so deep.

A fist slammed into her chest. Her lungs got crushed. A hand was squeezing her heart together. It got hard to breathe. She had gotten herself so deep in shit that her best friend was busy arranging the funeral of the love of his life. _It's your fault, Frankie. Your fault. You can only blame yourself_.

Suddenly, the door opened. Agent Hotchner appeared in the doorway. His mien was just as emotionless as hers. Silently, he stepped into the room and placed a picture on the table. She forced her eyes to look at the headless body of her friend. When she looked back at Hotch, he was looking down on her. Not just figure of speech. He was actually, physically looking down on her, but there was something in his eyes that told her she had completely ruined everything she had built. He was looking down on her. She was nothing anymore.

"You called Louisa shortly before she died."

_There it is…_

Abby didn't reply.

"You've been calling regularly over the past few weeks."

"I have." She finally admitted. By the way he was looking at her, she already knew it was over. He knew.

"I think I know why. If you care to say something on the subject, you should. But I don't think you will. Or want to." His voice was softer now. His expression gentler. Perhaps, after all this mess, it would be all right.

"You're free to go."

Her eyes widened in surprise. Hotch gave her no time to reply. "We found evidence that proves a set up. You've been cleared of all charges. But bear in mind that we profiled you and we're good. We don't know half the story because you buried it deep and in different places. I sincerely hope that this is not how you planned this."

She wanted to speak, she wanted to ask him all those question that had been burning on her tongue – she wanted to tell him all those things that had been crushing down on her lungs for so long – she wanted to yell that this was not the way she had wanted it to go. But instead, she found herself drowning in despair and in a deep, utter, sorrowful silence.

"I also hope that you realise that none of us care anymore. Well, Reid, perhaps, but I think that with an IQ of 181 you can come up with the bright idea to let him go. He doesn't deserve you and he doesn't deserve morning the loss of his best friend."

Abby didn't say anything, but she looked up at Hotch once he spoke those words. He was dissecting her with a ten inch blade and he didn't even know it. She had been working towards a goal and she was nearing the end of that goal. Hotch thought that she grew indifferent and that her skin had turned into stone. It didn't. Only they couldn't see. _Because you won't let them._

"I also hope that you are smart enough not be expecting to find your gun and your badge among your belongings when you pick them up later tonight." Hotch' look was stark and stern and she had to break away from his face – away from his piercing eyes. "You're fired. Enjoy the rest of your life."

When had this happened? And when had the sound of Hotch' fading footsteps hurt so badly?

She had been working towards a goal. But it wasn't over yet. It was far from over. And when she had received the end of this journey, a new one would start; she would complete it again, running down the road of pilgrimage as fast as she could, reaching her goal and running off to find a new goal. Because that's how she worked. There was no finale for Abby Scott. She was either going to end up getting shot in the line of duty, or she would rot away in a hole she had created for herself.

And only _he_ would there to witness it all. And it really, was solely, only, her fault.

* * *

_"And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul. But rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? And one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father."  
_The Gospel according to St. Matthew, chapter 10._  
_


End file.
